DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2018 with funding from Duke University Libraries https://archive.org/details/letterstosirwalt01simp LETTERS /' TO Sir WALTER SCOTT, Bart. ON THE MORAL AND POLITICAL CHARACTER AND EFFECTS OF THE VISIT TO SCOTLAND IN AUGUST 1822, OF HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE IV. . .. “ The King’s name is a tower of strength.”— Shaks. EDINBURGH: PRINTED FOR WAUGH AND INNES, HUNTER SQUARE; G, &,AV. B. WHITTAKER, AVE MARIA LANE, AND W. SAMS, ST. JAJIEs’s STREET, LONDON. 1822. j , />s . r . S' ;l.- ■. t I • • '^- • • ‘ . •* *^T . .. &Tj:'!T''irr n *a . -Av "' ■' ■ -.*v ■■ . ■ ■ ,,t :• ' •. '“ifAirif '. ;r-, 'i' 'i.o. ayiAjWxi O'i, TJ^ri' ' - »V'^ Kr'k Yiv 'fr > ' S' .i~-At ::K.— ■■■' Ip -MfcJ i*- '" ' .1 «*' ' tf'iT'* _... • .*' , .,J__ r.-i-i't Hi .. I •. i-U. - -■ y.,) u.tf 1 ‘^k3.0T‘i- ^ HZU CONTENTS. LETTER I. Introduction—The retirement of the Sovereign an error in state policy,—corrected by his present Ma¬ jesty ;—it mistook the age and nation ;—analogy between the King’s resolution to visit his people and Lord Rodney’s naval tactics.—Regrets of the British patriot that his country was so long un¬ visited by its King.—Evils consequent on this ab¬ sence of the Sovereign;—his power,' by coming out, to remedy them.—Experiment in Ireland sa¬ tisfactory ;—but Ireland a less instructive subject than England or Scotland.—Extent of the success of the demagogue in the two latter countries antisocial sentiment in the lower orders;—a great evil, although far short of a revolutionary principle; —its particulars.—Better feelings will countervail this habit of mind.—Scotland most calculated to try the moral power of royal presence;—Scottish character.—Prejudices against the royal person, • and their cause.—Hesitations respecting the royal visit.Page 1. LETTER II. The King’s visit announced to Edinburgh ;—instant effect of the news.—Preparations, and their regu¬ lating principle.—Feelings of the populace on the 11 CO^TTENTS. removal of the regalia.—Want of precedents to guide the preparations.—Exertions of Sir Walter Scott.—Embarkation and rapid approach of the King.—Resort of eager multitudes to Edinburgh. —First appearance of the squadron.—Armal.— Landing;—deep feeling of the people.—Advance of the royal procession.—Summons at the barrier of the City.—Entrance of the King.—Beauty of the vistas.—Sublimity of the crowded Calton Hill.—Spontaneous burst of loyalty from a crowd of mechanics.—Silent and solemn entry into Holy- rood ;—associations of the moment.—Final ac¬ claim.—George the Fourth seated on the Scottish throne. _____ Page 31. LETTER III. No details given but such as lead to important moral or political conclusions.—Levee and drawing- I'oom;—reflections, from association of contrast, in Holyrood. Local coincidences;—the chiefs and clans in Holyrood in 1745 and 1822.—The King’s attention to the tiighlanders.—The royal progress to the Castle;—objections to it considered;—:rits pomp Scottish exclusively.—The King on the halfmoon battery of the Castle.—Politic review of the yeomam-y.—Peerage of Scotland did ho¬ nour to their country—their ball to the King— The banquet—effect on the guests of the King’s presence;—his health drunk, and reply made amidst the report of cannon;—graceful manner of announcing the new dignity of the chief magistrate of Edinburgh ;—fervent blessing invoked by the CONTENTS. Ill King, oti the Land.—The King attends divine ser¬ vice in St Giles’s Church ;—becoming behaviour of the crov?d in the street;—judicious discourse of the officiating clergyman.—National monument found¬ ed.—Vi:5it of the King to the theatre.—Public feel¬ ing towards the King becomes more kindly.—The King’s improved health, and ease of mind—His visit to Earl Hopetoun, and re-embarkation - Page 68. LETTER IV. jMore didactic views—No exaggeration of public feel¬ ing—Foundation of homage to royalty in natural impulse—-Nations of antiquity, Jews, Persians, Macedonians, Assyrians, Greeks, and Romans— Grand Monarque of the French—Effect of royalty on men of the strongest minds and greatest accom¬ plishments, Samuel Johnson, Goldsmith ;—no sla¬ vish feeling in this homage—Theory of Adam Smith—Sympathy with the joys and misfortunes of kings; death of Charles I. and Louis XVI.— This feeling disinterested.—Hesitation of the people in opposing even a bad king;—Cfesar’s wounds, C3esai'’s will.—The dominion of the great easy; King of Macedon led in triumph by Paulus ^mi- lius.—Man a king-making animal;—the Jews de¬ manded a king of their prophet Samuel.—Distinct- tion the object of revolutionists;—apt to be¬ come courtiers. Illustration by the court paid by the lower orders to the late Queen.—Level¬ lers hate all poAver but their oAvn ; are proud, haughty, and tyrannical; have a slight hold of the people.—Illusli’ation by the feeling shewn by the whole kingdom on the death of the Princess IV CONTENTS. Charlotte and her infant.—Opinion of Edmund Burke. - _ _ _ _ Page 102 LETTER V. A more interesting inquiry how the natural impulse to pay homage to kings is exalted and purified in a free people;—absence of fear.—Affection for a be¬ neficent despot;—instance of Henry Fourth of Fx'ance.—Veneration for British king is a lofty sentiment of patriotism;—the concentration of a nation’s glory in a chief unknown to a republic;— no slavery in this feeling, it is manly loyalty.— Summary and application of facts and statements in the Letters.—The demagogue contends against nature.—The sincerity of the popular feelings has been tried for two months;—reasons of their ex¬ pected permanence.—Political animosity disap¬ peared, and will not be revived.—Good-will among all ranks, and evident tendency to I’econciliation be¬ tween lower and higher.—Continuance and expect¬ ed permanence of good disposition towards the king;—demagogue defeated through the better feelings of the people;—the Monarch’s presence destroys their work of years.—Conclusion.—Power of Sovereign’s presence not overrated—The effects as well as the feelings New. —Difference of feelings of inhabitants of London, with whom the King abides—anticipated effects of the same sort of visit to other parts of England, as that paid to Scotland. —Impartiality of the Sovereign’s regard for his three kingdoms.—Such intercourse with his people beneficial to the character of the Sovereign;—af¬ fords the choicest luxury a king can enjoy. 138 LETTERS TO SIR WALTER SCOTT, BARONET. LETTER L - “ Jamdudum erumpere nubom Ardobat.”- Vh-ff. JEn. I. Although nearly two months have elap¬ sed, Sir, since the visit of our gracious Sovereign to his Scottish dominions, the writer, who now uses the freedom to ad¬ dress you, is unwilhng to abandon the hope that the task of telling the tale and pointing the moral of that auspicious event,—^with all the poetry, the paint¬ ing, the high excitement of which it is susceptible,—will yet be performed by B 2 yon. The page of chivalry is your own ; and when you hold high discourse of kings and heroes, who, besides, shall hope to be listened to ? Assured, nevertheless, that no one that ventures into this field can anticipate, although he may have the good fortune to incite you, he begs to be allowed, while you yourself are yet silent, to submit to you some views of this in¬ spiring subject which have occurred to him; for if it have been his good for¬ tune, to catch even a breathing of that lofty sentiment, which glows with so much fervour and purity in your bosom, to whom else can he impart his feehngs, if permitted to commune with you? Although much has been said on the subject of the late Eoyal visit, some of its nobler features have not yet been steadi¬ ly looked upon. The lessons of deep moral import which it inculcates, are more hkely to stand revealed, now that the glare of its externals has vanished, and its poli¬ tical bearings more likely to be observed, in the serenity of its receding distance from the lately dazzled eye. Trusting that you will bear with me, wliile, with the diffidence which the subject demands, and the delicacy, withal, which, in neces¬ sary allusion to an august quarter, is seemly,—I attempt to show that in this theme there is not “image and sentiment” alone, but “ thought,”—that “ tliere is magic in the web of it,” and truths, per¬ haps unsuspected, of pleasing augury and deep concernment, not only to Scotland, but to the empire at large—not only to the present, but to future generations. A grand error in state policy was cor¬ rected, when his present Majesty con¬ ceived the patriotic idea of departing from a system of almost unqualified retirement, and, by visiting the different kingdoms of his dominions, making himself person¬ ally known to the remotest of his people. Yet the most clear-sighted of his advisers could not, beforehand, have estimated 4 the real extent of the moral power, witli which this happy measure was to clothe their Sovereign; and although much was anticipated, infinitely more has practical¬ ly resulted. There were who thought the experiment perilous,—there could be none jealous of its anticipated conse¬ quences. If there were doubts or hesita¬ tions, or even heart-burnings—a fearless, confiding, generous Prince scorned them all, and, leaving mysteries and forms and guards beliind, launched boldly for Ire¬ land, landed on her strand, walked at once into the midst of her free-hearted popu¬ lation, and, more than Enghsh King ever did before, conquered their hearts. The fate of nations hanging in the mo¬ mentous scales, there is nothing grander in the moral world than the generous, the fear¬ less decision, followed up by instant action, and crowned with brilliant success. When that magnificent naval manoeuvre, con¬ ceived and diagrammed in the closet of a rarely gifted landsman,* had for sub¬ ject of its first practical experiment a hostile array of thirty-four line of battle ships;—when it was yet to be proved that it should render victory more signal than had ever been known in the con¬ tests of the deep—that it slioidd not sa¬ crifice the assailants—the gallant Eodney had been more than man, had he been free from anxiety. The tactic was new, it was unauthorised. A fleet —a nation’s honour were at stake— ^liis own head was not with him in the calculation. A mo¬ ment, and but a moment remained,—aH the future victories of England by sea and land hung upon it, all the present glory and tranquillity of our beloved country!—all were shadowed forth in ONE WORD, which trembled on the lips of ONE MAN ! That w^ord was given, and Eu¬ rope was saved. * The late Mr Clerk of Eldin in Mkl-Lothian, the first projector of the bold naval manoeuvre of break¬ ing the enemy’s line of battle, instead of the formoi- ineflicient practice of cannonading in regular lines. 6 There is analogy more than fanciful between this glorious resolve, and that which has brought our Monarch out from the old alignements and conceal¬ ments of regal state, to close contact with the hearts of his people; and his victory is not less complete. There was as much antiquity in the distant shrouded mys¬ tery with which royalty was brought to bear upon the people’s aflPections, as in that futile battle which long balked “ the mariners of England,” and gave them a series of half-won victories. It was to miscompute the age and mistake the nation, to advise a retirement amount¬ ing to concealment, to the Sovereign; and it is dehghtful to think, that among the first acts of his present Ma¬ jesty’s reign, that policy has been practi¬ cally condemned.* There then was in an instant, an end of the popular impression, * The caution is certainly superfluous, that not a single word now said can be meant to apply to the last ten years of the life of our late venerable King! 7 that even a British King lives and reigns for himself;—comes forth as a mere pa¬ geant in state ceremonies, but, at all other times, is to be figured, by his subjects, as splendidly existing somewhere in the in¬ terior of certain magnificent palaces; ex¬ cept when perhaps seen for a moment, travelling with great speed from one of those sumptuous dwellings to another; without common feelings, scarcely com¬ mon nature, with those whom gates and sentinels exclude, and twelve miles an hour and a squadron of light dragoons cast behind. With an enlightened and generous people there is no increase of the awe which majesty inspires, derived from the mystery of its habits. Harams and kiosks suit barbarous despots alone, whose spell is fear, which even an ap¬ proach to familiarity might dissolve. Our present Sovereign is quite the free¬ hearted Prince, to say with the immortal hero of Agincourt, whose succession to 8 the crown very naturally increased the restraint of those who approached him, “ This is the English, not the Turkish court. Not Amurah an Amurah succeeds, 13ut Harry, Harry.” Yet for many reigns, there has been in the British empire, less intercourse between sovereign and people, on the whole, than is known in the more arbi¬ trary governments on the Continent. It was, indeed, mortifying to the British patriot, who looked abroad on the mag¬ nificent country he proudly calls his own, “ told her towers and palaces,” nay, num¬ bered her cities and her capitals, “ her nations, kindreds, and languages,” and called to mind that for ages these had been unvisited by their Sovereign lord ; that the eye of a King had not hghted on her harvest fields and fieece-covered mountains, on her engines moving a world, on the intellectual strength, the moral monuments, the social joys, the charities, the worship, of so many mil- 9 lions whom the commonwealth of Bri¬ tain “ holds together in a manner so suit¬ able to the dignity of human nature.” While, in their turn, these miUions had never seen the head on which they had placed the crown, and daily invoked Hea¬ ven’s blessing in their prayers. This was not natural, it was not wholesome, and the effects were morbid accordingly. Treason, like the night-blight, had power in the absence, the virtual non-existence, of the Sovereign. The demagogue be¬ came his rival, the anarchist seduced the affections wliich were his due, but wliich those who owed them were falsely taught that he disregarded and despised. Tem¬ porary distress, among large classes that throve in war, on the sudden return of peace, was seized on as a choice season for the efforts of the agitator, whose first care was to pour reproach upon the So¬ vereign, as the alleged primary cause of the pubhc suffering. Nay, although the book of the constitution teaches that the 10 King’s office and person are distinct, his and liis people’s enemies, in profligate defiance of its maxims, have slandered his private character, misrepresented his habits, and caricatured his person ; while he, by merely coming forth from the sys¬ tematic retirement of his court to the presence of his much abused people— manifesting in public that concern for their weal which he had always cherish¬ ed in private—displaying those graces of person and manners which had been disbelieved only because they were shroud¬ ed—standing erect, in fine, in his people’s view, the inheritor, as he is, of his father’s fearlessness and his father’s firmness, without which we had been at this mo¬ ment the “ stranger’s slaves,” but by and through which we are “ the conquerors of the conquerors of Europe”—^had it in his power, at once, like the returning light, to dispel disaffection with all its brood of darkness, and heal, with a touch, that evil which had infected an other- 11 wise healthy population. The experi¬ ment was truly grand, and it has been made with an effect which has astonish¬ ed the empire. Our King has seen his people, and they have seen their King. The experiment in Ireland had ines¬ timable results. It was unspeakably en¬ couraging to witness one heart and soul of affection in that people, w hen their King appeared;—in a people, whose very name, while it is associated with aU that is gallant and gay, cannot be separated from ideas of religious dissension, local anarchy, and civil war. The Sovereign saw only an united, loyal, hospitable na¬ tion; greeting him with an unfeigned, with a wild and reckless joy,* well suit¬ ed to the national warmth of feeling^ and that characteristic mirth, which ever emerges from the depths of calamity, and laughs as it buffets the billows of * One mode of cheering the King may be presumed peculiar to Ireland, Many loyal subjects tossed their hats in the air, and bade them a final ndieu! 12 adversity. But that country, in which it is tlie boast even of the rebel and the bandit, that he wars not with his King, was certainly not the most satis¬ factory subject, for a trial of the full power of the King’s actual presence. There is little jacobinism in Ireland. The pedlars of disaffection do not travel there. The itinerant demagogue seeks not an au¬ dience whose sympathies he has no chance of commanding, and cares not to visit a country where old delusions leave no room for new. But the agitator had tampered largely with the more rational loyalty of England, and tainted the yet more sober patriotism of more reflect¬ ing Scotland. He had, by means of a seditious and most indefatigable press, taught the crowded city, the remote vil¬ lage, the peasant’s once contented cottage, to speculate on distorted views of pohtical justice, and to draw the conclusion that all is disarranged; that the poor man is oppressed and insulted, and that it is his 13 duty to disdain a lot that is nevertheless unequalled in the same station of life in the world—which anarchy might destroy but could never improve,—that he owes it to himself andhiscliildrentodo his utmost to level all better fortune than liis own, in revenge of a fancied injury which he suf¬ fers from it, and that no man is within the honourable pale of “ liberal principles,"^ who has not learned to hate his King and defy liis God. The poison tended, unaccompanied by antidote, to the re¬ motest ramifications of a late health¬ ful circulation ; and a disease was tlireat- ening to deform the fair countenance of the land, which would change all the once hearty and joyous character of merry England, and all the wonted kind- hness and tuneful glee of her northern sister, into an unsocial scowl of discon¬ tent and disloyalty. There was enough for the lover of his country to de¬ plore in this as a permanent habit of p 14 mind —a prevailing sentiment among large classes of his countrymen, however far short it might be of a principle of ac¬ tion dangerous to the frame of social order which he admu’es, or to the founda¬ tions of the constitution which he loves. Actual subversion of that fabric, nay even partial revolution, are shadows fast flit¬ ting even from the dreams of the wildest anarchist. There is not only a barrier of sound principle against such a con¬ summation, but more, there is a bul¬ wark of interest, another word for power, which seditious diatribes assail in vain. Their utmost effects, aided by the late pressure of the times, and allied by pub- hc occasions of intense agitation, have not yet gone beyond tumults in places of crowded population. Even in those places where distress was felt, now that comparative prosperity has returned, the flame has burned out, and the incendiary’s task will be a difiicult one to blow it up <1 15 again. Eevolution has become an empty sound, heard only in the angry and very foolish threat of political disputants, who lack more legitimate argument. So far the revolutionist’s views are not advan¬ cing. But he does succeed in perpetuat¬ ing a sort of under-tone of discontent— a subacid temper, which at least render unhappy all who are therewith afflicted, and moreover degrade society, much as sullenness, jealousy and distrust blight do¬ mestic comfort*- Even reaching no far¬ ther than a habit of thinking, disloyal and antisocial sentiments are a grand public evil. It is a great evil, though vastly short of revolution, that the man of humble rank should live a hfe of dis¬ content, and pine in envy and hatred of all above him in condition. It is a great evil that he should be persuaded that the ranks of society which are richer than his, have forfeited all claim to his charitable thoughts or neighbourly good¬ will ; and that he is called upon sullenly > 16 to estrange liimsclf from them; although he knows and daily feels that he cannot exist without constant contact with them, —a contact producing undeniable mutual advantage. It is a great evil that he should be taught to hate his country¬ men in classes, the individuals of which he approaches, in liis daily avocations, with confidence, respect, affection, and grati¬ tude ; with whose assistance he improves his own condition, and from whose advice he reaps the means of prosperity, of the redress, of real grievance, and of the avoid¬ ance of misfortune ; whom he sees, indi¬ vidually and corporately, contributing their time and talents, in all the activity of beneficence, to improve the condition, physical and moral, of their less fortunate brethren,—to enlighten their minds,—to add to their mechanical skill,—to im¬ prove their habits,—to increase their comforts,—to educate their children,— to reheve their sick,—to administer the comforts of rehgion to their afflicted. 17 It is a great evil, thougli short of re¬ volution, that the less informed of our countrymen should live in the belief that the laws are partially and oppressively administered, that the authorities which their fathers reverenced are hateful usurp¬ ations, and that all public men are cor¬ rupt, It is deplorable, although far short of absolute anarchy, to see our humbler countrymen confiding in contemptible political mountebanks, who out-bid each other in extravagance, whose trade is to mislead and betray —men who flat- * “ But these (the lower orders) had not yet (for' a long time after the French Revolution) become dis¬ trustful of all public men, or resolved to rely only upon such as had arisen from among themselves, and made their conduct acceptable to them, by courting their passions, and disregarding all interests but theirs.” Edln. Review, No. 64. p. 294. “ It cannot be denied that they (the same class) have qflate shewn a growing disposition to withdraw their affections from all above them in condition, and to re¬ pose a most groundless, and, it may prove for them¬ selves and their country, a most fatal reliance upon men very little fitted, let us only say by their wisdom and attainments, to guide them.” Ibid. p. 296. C 18 ter their uninstructecl disciples with most preposterous ideas of their own light and knowledge, and lead them to judge for the judges, and supersede the lawgivers of the land, and dogmatise on the most diffi¬ cult matters of law and legislation;—men who pour into their ear the too cordial doctrine, that they are treated unjustly^ defrauded of their due, balked of the re¬ ward of their merit, and excluded from their place in society ;—men, in fine, who especially inculcate, that the lot of the lower orders is intolerable, which, never¬ theless, the very system they are taught to hate has brought to a degree of relative comfort, to which the same classes in all other countries are strangers, and which much higher classes in this country knew not a century ago;—till, instead of that contentment, peace, and good-will which made their fathers happy, their daily thoughts are hatred to all above them in condition, an unhappy grudging of the prosperity enjoyed by others, with an ab- 19 surd notion of a claim to it, not with¬ out some unchristian feelings of revenge against those who enjoy, as if they with¬ held;—dispositions the effect of which is to deny to the unhappy mind they visit, one hour of earthly satisfaction or happiness. I have said that all this amounts to a speculative sentiment more than a revo¬ lutionary principle, but that it is so far an active principle as to be quite suffi¬ cient to render the mind unhappy which harbours it, to sour all the kindly sym¬ pathies of life, to poison its most inno¬ cent joys, and to instigate human beings to hate and distrust one another. I was one of those who thought that these speculations were extensively current among the less informed classes, especial¬ ly where crowded together in towns, in both parts of the island; but this belief was accompanied by a countervaihng im¬ pression on my mind, that, except in those places where the revolutionary quack had irritated the real sore of lo- 20 cal distress to a high degree of tem- j)orary inflammation, the delusron had tliat slight hold of the minds of the lower orders, which would at once yield to a well-directed appeal to their better feel¬ ings. There are noble sentiments in very simple minds. Love of country, love of glory, are perhaps the most universally exciteable; generosity and justice, too, find their echoes in many a poor man’s bosom. There is, there must be worth where there is bravery—and their ene¬ mies can tell, that the humblest son of Britain is brave;—brave for all the events of war, its toils, its dangers, and its hor¬ rors; brave on deck and field,—aye up to* the pitch of a Nelson’s or a Wellington’s most glorious dreams,—the trust-worthy material of all their victories, the never- failing surety of all their laurels. Shall the men, who fought the unflinching battle of ten hours, till their enemies melted be¬ fore them, really surrender to the con¬ temptible charlatans of Spafields!—yield 21 for ever the virtue that lives in the core of their hearts, whicli every great occasion brings out with enthusiasm, to such inglorious deceptions! By what class of our countrymen is the announcement of British victory received with the most undisguised enthusiasm ? Is it not by the lower orders, whom it is utterly to miscon¬ ceive to presume less proud of their coun¬ try than the greatest lord within itsborders ? In the theatre, where excitement operates by sympathy, by whom are those high sentiments, of the best of our dramas, rap¬ turously applauded, which elevate our nature, and unite us by our common ge¬ nerosities and virtues, if it is not by the lower orders ? Nay do we not find their political betrayers assailing them through that very unsuspecting generosity which their own grovelling arts are bent to de¬ stroy ? But it must be admitted, that these nobler feelings lie deep, and are not reached by didactic reasoning. Some degree of excitement is necessary—some external circumstance of country, which 22 shall reach the feelings through the imagination—some spectacle which shall bring their own and their country’s glory bodily before their eyes, which shall as¬ semble them, and spread the generous feeling by electrical sympathy. It is long since I felt assured, if their King would come among them, would call them to meet him, in a noble and generous con¬ fidence, that there was not a heart in the humblest bosom in the land that would not beat high at the summons; that the demagogue would then have no share of their thoughts ; that his flimsy empire would be in an instant dissolved, and that that fund of patriotic health with which sedition wiU not permanently assimilate, needed only to be thus exer¬ cised to throw out the lurking poison, re¬ pudiate the ignoble poisoner, and resume at once all its native vigour and whole¬ someness. The glorious challenge has been given and accepted, and the event has gone far beyond even these sanguine expectations. 23 There can be no doubt of the same results, as we have witnessed in Scot¬ land, in the distant pai’ts of England, in what were called its disturbed dis¬ tricts. Nay, there was, a priori, greater reason to expect success generally in England than in Scotland; and the ex¬ ample of the North gives that advantage to a future trial elsewhere, which the judi¬ cious experimentalist so well knows how to appreciate, the advantage of more favourable circumstances. The King’s name has much more influence in Eng¬ land, from the circumstance of that country being his residence, however lit¬ tle he may be seen by its inhabitants not of the metropolis. He is among them, and part of them; and they reap a consequence and he a strength from this very con¬ sciousness. But royalty and all its impres¬ sions had deserted Scotland. Her people had for generations lost all the more per¬ sonal feelings of having a king. What shall we say to five reigns, without the royal 24 foot having once pressed the Scottish soil —to the fact, that none of the monarchs of the hue of Brunswick had ever seen the people who most resisted the temp¬ tations of their enemies, and remained their steadiest and most devoted adher¬ ents ! It is to found on the violent and disrespectful presumption, that our Mo¬ narchs of the House of Hanover were ig¬ norant of the history of the country they governed, to allege that they left Scot¬ land unvisited because they distrusted it. Nothing in principle could be more dia¬ metrically opposed to the pretensions of the Stuarts,—to their maxims of go¬ vernment as well as their religion, than the Scottish presbyterians. None had more reason to dread the return of that family, and consequently to cherish the protestant succession. Every school-boy knows how mainly the presbyterians con¬ tributed to the revolution ; how cordially they hailed the House of Hanover, to which the legitimate protestant succes- 25 sion opened; and how firmly, on occa¬ sion of two rebellions, they acted up to their stern principles, and refused to be tempted by many seducing national asso¬ ciations ;—in so much that it may safely be said, that George the First and his successor, respectively, would not have been more welcome and more safe, during the two rebelhons—saving al¬ ways the actual presence of the rebel army—than in any part of the lowlands of Scotland; and for much the greater part of the reign of George the Third, that respected Prince would have been not only safe, but cordially received, even in the Highlands. But as the existing generation and their fathers, for nearly two centuries, had never seen their King in their native land, there could not but be much of the indifference which might be expected to be found in a virtual pro¬ vince. By so long a separation, the royal absence seemed to be the natural course of things, till the royal presence began 26 to be held nearly as inapplicable to Scot¬ land as to Jamaica. We had seen our grandfathers and our fathers perfectly content under the privation, drawing a sort of consolation from the necessity, that perhaps it was better that the poor¬ er country should be spared so costly a resident, or even visitant as a King. Besides this source of indifference, there is much in the national character of Scotland to try the strength of a Koyal visit, the whole of which might not be called forth in England, certainly would be superfluous in Ireland. That charac¬ ter is not rapturous and enthusiastic. The regular education of three centuries has sobered it down to one of reflection and sagacity.^ It is a character which * The author has purposely said little on a subject on which we are charged by our southern neighbours, somewhat indiscriminately, with nationality ,—another word for unfairness. All that he wishes for his present purpose is so well said by a celebrated foreigner, that he will limit himself to his impartial testimony. M. Biot, one of the most distinguished of the men of 27 will look beyond the spectacle of a Royal visit; and which, more than the character of any other people in Europe, will put science in France, was several months in Scotland in 1817 on a scientific survey, on which occasion he made the Scottish character the subject of his parti¬ cular study, and has given to the Journal de Savansy for March 1822, an account of it, with a detail of the system of education to which it is entirely owing. The following is an attempted translation of his intro¬ ductory observations. “ It is impossible to visit Scotland, and observe with attention its inhabitants, without being struck with their religious and moi'al habits, their probity, their patience of toil, their elevation of sentiment, and aboye all the degree of instruction which distinguishes them. If we inquire, as is natural, into the circum¬ stances which develope in them that superior civiliza¬ tion, several causes present themselves, the rare con¬ course of which has, without doubt, a manifest effi¬ cacy. The superior education of the families of rank, the concern of these in the welfare of the people, the affection of the people for them, remain entire, but remain valuable, and without danger any more of fall¬ ing into that absolute devotion, which the ancient sys¬ tem of clanship had established. To these happy relations must be added the more recent effects of a regular and stable government, with a highly improved agriculture, and an immense encouragement to the in¬ dustry of the Scottish population, in consequence of their complete union witli the rich and flourishing 28 to a severe test, the power of that mea¬ sure to do pohtical and moral good. Last of all—for it were injustice to my country of England. But one easily sees that these benefits of government and position could never have produced such effects in that country, had not an edu¬ cation more than ordinarily enlarged, and above all, an education 'perfectly suited to a life cf industry, en¬ abled the people of Scotland to derive all the advan¬ tages which they do derive from the circumstances in which they are placed. Having had occasion and opportunity, during a stay of several months, to ob¬ serve a moral phenomenon so remarkable, it was easy to see that it was at least in a great degree the effect of a system which long experience has consecrated, and carried to a degree of perfection which it would be difficult to surpass. I collected with care the in¬ formation which may enable us to search to the bot¬ tom so valuable an instrument of public happiness, in the hope that one day these observations may be use¬ ful to my own country. I fulfilled moreover, in do¬ ing so, a duty which had been committed to me by a distinguished person, who then occupied a high place in administration in France. Such was the origin of the following article, in which the dryness of the details have no other excuse than their utility.” M. Biot then details, in the clearest manner, the whole system of Scottish education, in all the ranks of life ; and returning to his admiration of its effects, thus concludes. “ Finally, it is known to every person in Scotland, 29 subject to leave uneniimei’ated any diffi¬ culty which was beforehand in the way of a happy issue to our Sovereign’s con¬ fiding undertaking—the royal visit was to meet and overcome no inconsiderable prejudice, among the great class of the populace, against the Koyal Person itself; —the work in various ignoble ways of that it is to the education received in youth that the Scottish people owe that honourable and generous pride, which distinguishes them in all the circum¬ stances of their life of hardship, which sustains them in that rude and constant labour by which they pur¬ chase their subsistence, and which has induced them hitherto to resist, in spite of their poverty, the demo¬ ralising operation of poors’ rates—honour, and a con¬ scious personal dignity, incite the Scottish peasant to the greatest efforts of industry and labour, rather than submit so to lose his character and his independence. In drawing this picture of a civilization so perfect, I am bound to remark, that the features of which it is composed have nothing ideal in them, and are not by any means embellished by the imagination. I have collected them all from Nature herself, sometimes from my own personal observations, and sometimes from the conversation of the great proprietors, who are themselves the most powerful instrument of the hap¬ piness of their country.” Journal des Savans Mars 1822 . 30 his and the country’s enemies—the more immediate effect of the recent movement of an engine of public agitation, which, worked, as it was, by the efforts, united for once, of anarchists in all their motley varieties, impelled, moreover, by the whole momentum of the honest on the same side, and driven by the whirlwind of popular passion, could not fail to leave some traces of its power on the loyalty of large classes of the people, before it fell suddenly to pieces. Passion dies away, and its causes, to the amazement of the once excited, dwindle into insignificance. But it was not wonderful that many, who are not accustomed to look deeper than external indications, should have dis¬ suaded the King from hazarding disap¬ pointment, perhaps insult, in a free and extensive intercourse with his people. LETTER II. “ You would have thought the very windows spake, “ So many greedy looks of young and old “ Through casements darted their enquiring eyes Upon his visage ; and that all the walls With painted imagery had said at once, “ Jesu preserve thee ! Welcome !” Rich, II. It is well known to you, Sir, that, on Thursday the 18 th of July 1822 , it was announced to the Scottish Capital, that his Majesty King George the Fourth was, in a few weeks, to honour that city with his presence. The events which followed that intelligence require not to be com¬ municated, as matter of information to any one, and least of all to you who were so deeply and honourably concerned in them. But as facts, they are the basis of the argument of these Letters; in wliich character, it is their chief value that they are known and admitted. Those who had doubted, were astonished with the unani- 32 mity of the sentiment of enthusiasm, which the royal declaration called forth, not only in the metropohs, but all over the country. There was a mixture of emotions, but they were all cordial and loyal. There was difference of opinion, but it was as to the way and manner of best and most worthily receiving the Sovereign. There was one sentiment of sa¬ tisfaction that the King was really coming; not a murmur or a grudge was heard; all was joy, pride, curiosity, eagerness, and an anxious hope that nothing should disappoint or even postpone the expect¬ ed happiness. That best proof of high respect, an anxiety to be well thought of by their Sovereign, filled even the hum¬ blest bosom, and was a leading principle of the preparations of all ranks of the community. No other objection was ever heard to the arrangements than that per¬ haps they were less in good taste or effect than was deshable. Every recommenda¬ tion of a loyal exterior was hailed by the universally loyal heart, and badges of welcome and symbols of good-will were proudly displayed even on the “ prentice- cap and work-day garment.” This joy of expectancy and bustle of preparation, gave perfect ease to the minds of the most sensitively loyal, although they wondered at their own confidence and composure. I chanced to witness the ceremony of conducting the regalia from the castle to the palace of Holyrood. Those who see the mere fact in every occurrence in hu¬ man affairs, however exciting, perceived no more in this, than the removal from one house to another of a circle of gold and gems, and marvelled why the people cheered—for thousands, as the crown was carried along, rent the air with their acclamations. There could not be a stronger proof than this, that there is more of poetry in what many a learned man of prose calls the vulgar mind, than in his own. There was more to be proud of in I) 34 our countrymen’s cheers to this circle of gold, than of any thing done by them du¬ ring the royal visit, excepting always their stanchng in silence, with heads uncover¬ ed, as their King passed to humble liim- self in the house of prayer. None shout¬ ed for “ the Old Crown,” as they were heard to call it, who did not know the history of the unconquer^d kingdom of which it is the ancient emblem—who did not, moreover, know that many a crown has rolled in the dust since it has been the pride of a kingdom, which is more fresh and vigorous than it was ever known in former ages. What wonder then that the people cheered! They connected the S)rmbol with the country—cheered for Scotland when they cheered for Scot¬ land’s crown, and, in these generous ac¬ cents said to their King, -“ There is your crown. And He who wears the crown immortally Long guard it yours.” The most timid on the subject of the ap- 35 preaching reception of the wearer of that crowii were now at ease. You, Sir, wit¬ nessed that striking scene, and did not record it in your book, as meaningless ho¬ mage to a circle of gems. For preparations so unwonted, the want of rational precedents occasioned much perplexity. It was in vain to turn up the record of the mummeries and pe¬ dantries with which the citizens of Edin¬ burgh received and entertained the Stu¬ arts in the seventeenth century. It w as hopeless, in the nineteenth, to call out and embody the heathen gods, and com¬ pose speeches to be spoken by the cardi¬ nal virtues,—to build an actual Parnassus, and stock it with the professors of the university with the Principal habited as Apollo on the summit. Precedent was to be established, not to be follow ed; and a fitting reception of a great Monarch, by a highly improved and enlightened peo¬ ple, which should engraft on the vene¬ rable stem of an ancient, all the intelli- 36 ligencc, improvement, and elegance of a modern kingdom, was yet to be designed, outlined, and realized. It is not easy to express the satisfaction which was gene¬ rally felt, when you yourself were seen zealously engaged in planning the pre¬ parations. They instantly assumed a high¬ er cast. To whom could the duty have fallen with more classical propriety ! You, who could have pictured the whole in ex¬ quisite poetic fiction, were the best fitted to rear it up in proud reality, and to give to it a shape and substance in which there should be no inconsistency, no want of keeping, no deficiency of historical type or characteristic warrant. At a glance, you saw the whole with the poet’s, with the moralist’s, with the patriot’s eye. You awoke, as if with magic touch, the dormant chivalries, the antique pageant¬ ries, the venerable symbols of an ancient kingdom ;—summoned the peers, the knights, the squires, the burgesses, the yeomen, the bold peasantry;—unfurled 37 their banners and their blazonries, the memories of former days and glorious deeds;—graced all the picturesque of an¬ cient drapery wth the charm of modern elegance;—lighted up the love of countiy till it glowed in every bosom;—while all our best loved reveries, and all Muse’s song of Scotland’s kingdom, started into life and freshness, waiting for Scotland’s King. ^Vhen the beautiful plan was sketched out in the general, many could afford useful hints for the details. Every thing was imagined and realized, that should at once suit the feelings of the prince, and the wishes and character of the people; nothing was forgotten that might even display to the best ad¬ vantage the noble features of our coun- ti'y’s landscape; and prepared in all that should do their country credit and their king honour, the Scottish lieges of George the Fourth, conscious that they merited the distinction, expected, after an interval 38 of two centuries, that most exciting of all public events, a Eoyal visit. The Monarch was embarked—embark¬ ed for Scotland ! A touch of pride, at this truth, thrilled in the humblest bosom in the land. It was felt the more that the visit was merited—^\^^as due to the war¬ like glory, to the loyalty, to the letters, to the intelhgence, to the virtue of the country; to its enterprise, its improve¬ ment, so well calculated splendidly to entertain a Prince—due, to the rich poetry, the lofty recollections, the ro¬ mantic associations of its history, to the varied character of its reflecting and deeply feehng population, to the match¬ less scenery of its mountains and valleys, the exquisite elements of that magic page which has for years led captive the ima¬ ginations of half of Europe—the ele¬ ments, not less, of a nameless lustre about to be shed around, the approaching Mo¬ narch, the descendant of Scotland’s long line of kings. 39 The King’s voyage, actually in perform¬ ance, excited a novel interest by the cer¬ tainty of its progress. All were calcula¬ ting his arrival to an hour. He was sweep¬ ing “ through the deep” with a giant’s power; careering, engine-armed, against winds and tides and currents; telling by hours the wonted voyage of weeks, and gaining on us by computation, with a command of the elements more flatter¬ ing to the age than all its other mechani¬ cal attainments. This certainty and speed was intensely exciting, and rapid¬ ly filled the town with eager expectants. Its stated inhabitants were a mere por¬ tion of the crowd which thronged the capital, to be regaled "v^ith the rare plea¬ sure of the presence of the Sovereign. It is very important to my subject to mark the eagerness with which the country poured into the metropolis. Distance was no discouragement. The Isles them¬ selves were not without their represen¬ tatives in this crowded centre of attrac- 40 tion. Poverty did not deter; for the po¬ verty, which scorns pauperism is but ano¬ ther word for self-denying independence. Many a hardy peasant came with a zeal second only to that which would have brought him had his country been in dan¬ ger, and led with him his children, that they might tell it to theirs, that they re¬ membered George the Fourth in Scot¬ land. Many of these pilgrims had some days’ provisions with them, and, as if they had taken the field, lived on the most frugal fare. It was singularly beautiful, that the aged were, in many instances, the most eager of the loyal travellers to Edinburgh ; where many of them had not before come in their long lives. Their youth liad not been soured by levelhng doctrines, or their hearts perverted by the delusions of revolutionists. They were seen like migrating patriarchs, toil¬ ing onwards in the midst of their fami¬ lies ; while those unavoidably left at home, who could only send their hearts. 41 were cheered with the hope, that those who went would tell the tale, on their return, of all they had seen, and, yet more interesting, of all they had felt. It is widely to mistake the very specific at¬ traction which produced the zealous and unwonted resort of this class to the ca¬ pital, to conclude, that it was to gaze on mere royal splendour. An hundred-fold the magnificence of the pageantry, had that been all, would scarcely have attract¬ ed the thoughts, assuredly would not have turned the feet, towards the capital, of one of the “ frugal swains,” who made so un¬ precedented an effort to be present. They came to see the King in Scotland^ with all the associations of that complex induce¬ ment operating on many a mind that could not put the feeling in words. The towns were literally emptied. Fifty thou¬ sand persons are said to have come from Glasgow alone. All the populous towns of the west contributed in proportion; and, in traversing the animated streets,persons 42 met from places of such distant locali¬ ty, that scarcely any event could have brought their inhabitants into contact be¬ fore. There was nothing more worthy of notice, and nothing of more delight¬ ful augury, than the vast accession of the lower orders from other places ; many of whom were known to have been the not unwilhng hsteners to the preachers of disaffection. It is singular, that these were the persons most impelled by cu¬ riosity, and who seemed most interested in the approaching occasion. Every trade in the capital was engrossed with unheard of demand—exhibitions and all descrip¬ tions of wonders throve—the theatre over¬ flowed every night for a fortnight, with spectators whose faces were strange, and manner stranger to the performers,—and the thronged places of worship evinced those regular habits, the operation of which, in such a people, is never suspended. The animation and cheerfulness of the streets, for some days before the King’s arrival. 43 will never be forgotten; nor the interest which many felt in this exhibition of the varieties of Scotland’s inhabitants from all corners of the land. An air of com¬ fort was universal, as was a look of intel- hgence. The family groups were de¬ lightful, for they kept together, as they looked on all that was strange and new around them; and, in themselves, pre¬ sented the most interesting pictures of venerable age, active manhood, happy youth, and, what was most remarkable of all, blooming rosy beauty. Such was the nation of enthusiastic expectants, who re¬ joiced in the approach of their King. A report, that the royal squadron was entering the Firth, covered the heights with spectators, straining the eye to catch the first glimpse of the gallant fleet. Circumstances repeatedly increased the excitement of the different events of the King’s visit. That the arrival was a landing from shipboard was one of the most striking of these. No ap- 44 proacli in dust-covered carriages could impress the spectator in the same sort, with the scene of a gallant fleet walk¬ ing the waters, with more than the common dignity of Britain’s bulwarks because of its kingly charge,—as if it said as it swept along “ Caesarem veho!” A landing, and embarkation too, are al¬ ways grand and striking; they are visible to vast numbers,s suitable to our naval character, associated with thoughts of victory, and not without affecting touches of that melancholy which so often blends with the proudest of our country’s me¬ morials. On the same pier on which our King was first to set foot, Mary, from the gay hlied fields of France,” knelt in youthful lovehness and early widowhood, to thank Heaven for her safety, and invoke its blessing on her na¬ tive land; and from the same pier many a gallant heart has since gone on many a gallant enterprise,—never to return. 45 A gvin gave signal that the Koyal an¬ chor was down in our own familiar road¬ stead ; and there was a sensation in that unrepeated detonation as it “ slowly boomed” to the ear,—a feeling, as hun¬ dreds have described it, of hope, of joy, of incredulity, yet of anxiety which no one who experienced it can ever forget. But there was an anchoring of their hope when the iron plunged and held, and a corresponding ejaculation “We have him!” came from many a delighted heart.* The King, with great consideration for his people, who nevertheless were all out to receive him, did not land in conse¬ quence of the wetness of the day. The night too was dark and rainy; and many struggled with a sort of increduhty, when the idea crossed their fancy that the * “ Je les tiens done! ces Anglais /” was Napoleon’s joyful exclamation, when the morning of Waterloo shewed him the British Jast moored in their position of the preceding evening. 46 King was in the road-stead,—and ex¬ posed for twelve hours longer to the ele¬ ments; and when they slept, a very large stake might be ventured on the fact, that two out of three of the vast popula¬ tion on shore had no other subject, than the King, for their dreams. The morning was to the wish of king and people. It dawned cloudily but soon brightened up, and returning to summer beauty clear and calm, displayed to the King the fine spectacle which the north¬ ern capital, embosomed in hills, presents to those who behold it from the sea. Leith appears part of it, the intervening distance is foreshortened, but yet deep¬ ened, and the whole is exaggerated to the effect of a city much more vast than it is in reahty. The delay had wound still higher the pubhc eagerness, and long be¬ fore the King left his yacht, his countless subjects were marshalled in stedfast and deep ahgnement on both sides of his route, compacted in gallery, balcony, and 47 scaffold, without end, stationed in every window, perched upon every house top, and more ambitious yet, crowded upon every height from which a view could be caught of this most unusual of spec- . tacles. The whole way for three miles from the shore to the palace, was one mass of hope and joy, all engrossed with one object, and responding to one pulsation. Of this countless assemblage every individual was well dressed; for the poorest of our countrymen will make any sacrifice of other comforts for this essen¬ tial of personal respectability. There was notliing, that day, ragged or squahd, nothing of mob or rabble; and, the ef¬ fect was quite solemn, there prevailed throughout the vast concourse, not order alone, but silence, as if every heart was occupied with its own thoughts, and every ear was open to catch the expected signal for the landing. It fired, and there was a cry “ the King is in his barge!” Nothing more was said, but this was said f 48 by such multitudes, that the sound passed upwards from the shore to the Calton’s summit, as if the breeze of a moment had swept a forest, and left it still again. There was a voice in that solemn cannon, far beyond description’s powers—it is a sublime mode of communicating to an entire people a simultaneous emotion. The flight of barges—for they seemed to skim the waters like sea-fowl—fixed every eye, and when they were within hail, and the Koyal standard rose majes¬ tically, at the harbour’s mouth, for the ac¬ tual King !—and when, withal, there was in many a strugghng bosom freedom to breathe, which the nearer presence was soon so singularly to impede, there was a peal of welcome, from the shore, up to the highest pitch of even Irish ecstacy. It died into silence indicating the strong¬ est feehng. When the King entered the harbour, there was another burst, and another calm—and there was something 49 of deeper pathos in the alternating still¬ ness than the rapturous acclamation. A third cry, like the thunder, gathered power from the pause out of which it arose,— the King stood on the Scottish shore • But homage was to be done, greetings were to be said, by nobles, judges, magis¬ trates, themselves in awe and wonder at the novelty and solemnity of their situa¬ tion; every voice was therefore again hush¬ ed, and in a moment “all was so still” that had one of a hundred spear-hke oars, which stood erect in the boats, in attitude of salutation, plunged into the flood, it would have disturbed the ceremony. There was tact in all this ; the calm was dignified, the occasion decent, the effect powerfully pathetic. The King had a short way, along a platform, to walk to his carriage. His whole person was then visible, and it was eagerly gazed at by thousands of delighted spectators, to whom a king was an object of intense E 50 curiosity mingled with awe. “ He ap¬ peared,” a witness who was close to him says, “ decidedly the most dignified look¬ ing person, in face, figure, and manner, any of us had ever beheld.” Now trumpet-clang and eannon-roar welcomed the King to the land of “ a hundred kings,” the long line of his an¬ cestors ; and while the salute was pro¬ longed by castle-crowned rock and moun¬ tain battery, the shout spread upwards hke a whirlwind to the heights, and agi¬ tated anew the forest of life and expec¬ tation which densely fringed the route, and grew upon all the slopes and vistas around. The Monarch moved on, like conqueror in his chariot, distinctly visible to every eye ; to unprotected childhood, to feeble age, for all were “ that day, and all were safe—a rare occurrence in crowds —and all were accommodated to their wish. There were courtesy and gentle¬ ness from the young to the old, from the 51 strong to the weak, to a degree perhaps unknown in assembled multitudes be¬ fore. As his Majesty passed onwards, there was much shouting and waving; but some about him, it is said, thought the cheering feebler, less general, less cordial, than they had been accustomed to hear. They forgot, that the deeper the feeling, the less the noise. There is no affectation of sentimentahsm in this account of the subdued acclamation. The' simple fact is now stated, on the best possible testimony; for the cause was obvious to many a keenly observing witness who has communicated the infor¬ mation. It was plain to these, that the spectators were taken by surprise, by feel¬ ings utterly new to them. Their coun¬ tenances were watched, and the most eager, the most excited, were the most silent. One intelligent friend of the au¬ thor’s, whose duty placed him close to the Koyal carriage, described the scene as almost too much for him. It presented 62 A continued line of pale faces, with ex¬ pectation w ound up to absolute pain, and a sort of bewildered smile on their first glimpse of that being called a King— Britain’s King—Scotland’s King—their own King!—the moment come, the first in their fives, when they could compare the actual thing called Majesty, with all they had from childhood dreamed and fancied of it! There was a sort of under sound, an occasional muttering of plea¬ surable emotion and wonder. This was most marked in the galleries and scaffold¬ ings crowded with females. Tears were general, and there was no affectation pos¬ sible in them, for there was no thought of self among the engrossed spectators; their King alone occupied their whole souls, and these seemed to leap from their eyes as they fixed them on him. When to all this was added the glorious stave of the most exciting of national airs, occasionally struck up by the bands, and often by the trumpets alone^ with the 53 Monarch himself, whom it blesses, full in their view, many females were affected with trembhng, and even faintness, and clung to the arm of some supporting friend. Thus shouts, abundant as they were, were to thousands physically impos¬ sible ; motion of hands was denied to many, and in the acclaim of tongues, and waving of arms, which, like an ever- kindling flame, passed along the surface of life through which the welcomed Mo¬ narch passed, there were thousands who did not because they could not join. After this, it is superfluous to say, that such feelings gave a corresponding cha¬ racter to the reception of the King. There was no mobbing and hustling,— no pressing forward to greet the Sove¬ reign, with coarse and unsuitable fami- harity. Every head was uncovered, and every foot remained firm, as near him only as was consistent with proper re¬ spect for his presence. 54 The triumph advanced, for a triumph it was, towards one of the most singularly beautiful cities in the world, by one of the noblest approaches. It moved onwards with a solemn slowness, admitting an al¬ most constant performance of the national anthem by military bands and heralds’ trumpets, which produced an effect not only majestic, but even pathetic* It was now visible, in all its gorgeous length of chariots and steeds, plumed heads and shining mantles, tabards and bannered trumpets, rich liveries, romantic tartan, military scarlet and naval blue, and at in¬ tervals from van to rear a firm squadron of our own yeomanry, and of those very Greys, certified “ terrible” by the best tes¬ timony ever borne to mihtary prowess. This dazzling train came onwards upon a broad pavement, holding a straight course, for a mile, through gardens, and seen, in every part, from aU the higher grounds in its neighbourhood. Nothing could be more striking than the progressive coin- 55 citle/ice of the waving and cheering with the immediate place of the King. It kept accurate pace with his groom-led steeds, as if some physical influence acted upon the multitude, and was increased in its appheation by every acknowledg¬ ing movement from him. It rolled on like a conflagration catching fresh combustibles,—and Testa! zeal could not have kept it alive more continuous, more glowing, or more hallowed. But this sin¬ gular onward-moving agitation did yet more; for seen as well as heard far for¬ ward, and mingled with the distant trum¬ pet, the deep kettle-drum, and the wild note of the Highland music, it communi¬ cated the electric influence much in ad¬ vance of the actual presence, and strung the hearts and nerves of thousands for the most exquisite vibration. In this frame of spirit were the dense masses of spectators, many furlongs city¬ wards, who cheered a train of heralds as they galloped up to the pennoned bai*- 56 ricr to demand entrance for the King. Every movement had at that moment a tongue to speak. This errand being known, every heart cried “speed!” and the sum¬ mons as it rung on the gate was answered by a burst of applause. Some call such symbohc acts mummery. Let them I The writer of these pages heard that appeal, and was so foolish as to allow it to give him very great delight. It was hke that finest power of the poet which, with a single word, conjures up a whole field of imagery. The multitude were the poets here, and poetry “ is the eloquence of truth”—in matters of feehng it is ano¬ ther word for truth; and this claim on their hospitality, which demanded entrance for their King into his ancient capital, was an¬ swered by a cry of welcome from its inha¬ bitants which did not stop till it was re¬ peated by the highest occupants of the highest perch on the neighbouring moun¬ tain ; by whom it was caught once more, when the gate was freely flung open for the 57 entrance of the greatest Monarch in the world. The author was now himself for the first time near the King. His Majesty’s person was not new to him. He had seen him before on various occasions, splendid and solemn, as well as ordinary. But he now saw him in Edinburgh! and the idea of his statehness elsewhere rendered the new feeling the more impressive. He had before heard his voice, but he now heard it addressed to his Scottish people. The author’s were not the sensations of the first sight of royalty—^but they were not short of even these in novelty and in¬ terest. The sun shone brilliantly when the royal train entered the spacious stone- built streets, in all the lightness and gaiety for which they are so remarkable; and the Sovereign looked round on the proofs of a thriving people, which a fine city indi¬ cates. Streets and squares of stately ar¬ chitecture, porticoes, columns, vistas, va¬ ried the effect at every turn—till that 58 iiiatclilcss scene formed of the castle and the old town seen from the new— “ Its ridgy back heaved to the sky, Piled deep and massive, close and high,” burst at once upon the King’s view. What he felt, thought, said—^what he must have felt, was the busy speculation of thousands who had him in view, all more proud, at that moment, of “ their own romantic town” than they had ever before been. This panorama was in front. One turn to the left, and the Place des Victoires, as the French would have termed it, came full in view!—the street of Waterloo, and the pillar of Trafalgar !-^the cliffs of the Acropolis, whose summit was al¬ ready prepared for the Parthenon.^' If any one should ask, what have these * The ground was broke for the national monument on the 12th of August, his Majesty’s birth-day. A foreign traveller, familiar with Greece, visited Edinburgh about twenty years ago, long before the project was conceived of building a temple, on the model of the Parthenon, on the Calton Hill. In his description of the scene, he observes the singular re¬ semblance of Edinburgh to Athens, and adds, “I look¬ ed for the Parthenon !” “ Je cherckois le Parthenonr 59 externals, of city, trophy, and mountain scenery, to do with the feelings, on which is built the argument of these Letters,— the answer is obvious. The King’s pre¬ sence enhanced the charm of every striking natural object, and mingled, with irresisti¬ ble power, our pride of Country, with our love of King. Both feehngs go to the en¬ semble of the effect, and form legitimate fact for the theory of the moral power, of the Sovereign’s visit to any portion of his people who admire the beauties of na¬ ture by which they are surrounded. The King’s eye was on these, and, at the moment, they were new in their interest to the oldest inhabitant. The view which the Calton HiU now presented, defies adequate description.* * The gentleman formerly alluded to, who, from his place, had the enviable advantage of seeing the different objects as they successively opened to the view of the King, has repeatedly told the author, that no description can give an adequate idea to those Avho did not see it, of the Calton Hill, as it rose covered with a nation’s population. “ Wonder was exhausted ! I never did,” said he, “ and certainly never shall again, behold so perfectly sublime a spectacle !” 60 Vast as were the numbers that had hailed their King, for two miles which he had aheady advanced, all that had yet been seen was as nothing to what was now opening up to view on “ the mountain’s hving side.” The first face of the emi¬ nence rose abrupt on the sight, a pyramid of human beings—^bold, instant, immi¬ nent,—as if they had been formed in magic phalanx to bar the path. It was so near, that a vast pavement of human faces, in living mosaic, seemed to gaze with one steady eye, and hail with one heart and one tongue. The precipitous slope rendered motion dangerous, so that the immobihty of the closely stationed thousands had something in it martially grand and solemn. It was the sublime almost wound up to the terrific; and truly, if ever vast concourse of human beings, with passions bearing on one com¬ mon object, with intense application, was sublime, it was now that the Royal Stran¬ ger looked up to a spectacle which no G1 event in his life could ever have presented to him before. The King’s feelings were no secret. By a sudden movement, not to be misinterpreted, he told them to thousands. His words were heard by few when, it is said, he exclaimed, “ Good God! what a sight!” The movement, however, was enough; and, like the fresh gust of the gale on the redoubling con¬ flagration, when it seizes some new and more stupendous mass of prey, it did rouse a feehng, and call forth an echo, yet unsurpassed on that triumphant day. A short circuit here of the finest of ways, whether we approach or leave the town, gave to view a change of striking objects. New “ hills lifted up their heads and rejoicedwhile the sea, beautifully embayed, was before the King. He was in “ the land of the mountain and the flood,”—in “ the land of his sires,” for old Holyrood was in sight. An amphi¬ theatre of hills seemed to inclose him. The southern slopes of the densely-peo- 62 pled Calton, varying every moment as the progress brought reach after reach of the living masses into view, were on Ills left, so close that he could see the countenances which gazed from them. On his right, beyond the ancient city and the palace, rising abruptly in indescrib¬ able majesty, shone a landscape of green mountain and crag^ rock, not exceeded in beauty, scarcely in grandeur, by the choicest portions of Highland scenery. It was well imagined to crown all the visible heights with cannon, tents, and standards. Every summit was thus connected with every other in one and the same feeling; and a soul was given to those enduring monuments of nature, in fuU sympathy with the exulting gene¬ ration that awoke their echoes with their cheers. The King was now out of the new city, and approaching his palace at the extremity of the old. It was a farther cause of exultation, when the watchful popular eye caught the moment, for 63 which they eagerly looked, that the King got sight of the venerable palace. From the elevated terrace on which he advan¬ ced, it was pointed out to him; and he was cheered by thousands with fresh en¬ thusiasm, when he raised his head, to look, for the first time, on Holyrood! When the mountain-multitudes were at last exhausted, a very striking effect fol¬ lowed from the arrangement which kept the northern entrance of the palace clear for the procession. The last heart-felt acclaim had burst forth in a manner which attracted much attention. As if they had designed it for the finale of the Cal- ton-hill, a large assemblage of young men, of the rank of mechanics, who had concert¬ ed together, gave forth the anthem^ as the King passed, with their whole heart and soul. All was then still; and there was something monastic and solemn, as the Monarch entered the northern gate of Holyrood, and had a space to contemplate 64 its interesting but somewhat melancholy pile. Every one about him was awe-struck. Holyrood was before them, whose soh- tary halls discourse to every bosom of chivalric royalty and queenly beauty— aye, of that which all the wealth and comfort of English commerce cannot obhterate, th^ pride of king-like inde¬ pendence. Holyrood, so full of his¬ tory, so full of poetry—for a richer vein is not known to your own propitious Muse. The brilliant court of the E ourth James—of the graceful and romantic knight of Snowdon—of the peerless Mary, “ the centre of the glittering ring” of her admiring nobles—of the Sixth James, commencing from these very gates his' southern progress, to wear the triple' crown, and mingle the rich blood of the Bruce and the Stuart, the Plantagene^ and the Tudor, with that of the high- pedigreed Guelph, the warhke Goth of Pliny’s page, and the most illustrious of modern kings. Such were the reflections G5- of a pause, which resembled that sudden arrest of voice and instrument in Handel’s chorus, when the loudest peal is for a moment suspended, as if to gather breath for the thunder of the final jubilate, the grand and harmonious close. That^ too, came, as the Sovereign entered the outer court of the palace, and was now again in the view of thousands. It was the final swell in the full tide of loyalty. Trum¬ pets sounded gloriously—troops saluted —musketry rolled, and cannon thunder¬ ed, from the over-hanging cliffs;—“ and ALL, the people shouted, and said, God save the King!” It was a distinguished privilege in that moment to enter his palace with the King. All the men of rank and office, who, in magnificent costume, had joined in Ae procession, formed now the brilliant ^semblage on both sides of a very spa¬ cious presence chamber, mth the King on the throne,—“ aye every inch a King”— F CG closing the superb perspective. Such was the proud coup d'ccil wliich present¬ ed itself to the bearers of the address of the city of Edinburgh, the only address that day received.* To many of the spectators arranged in the double line, the reception of the address by an en¬ throned king was new, and pecuharly grand and solemn. The regular obei¬ sances of the civic rulers and their official cortege, in court dresses and robes—the dignity and grace with which the Mo¬ narch repeatedly acknowledged their ho¬ mage, as they advanced—the perfect still¬ ness in which was read the first gratula- tion, for nearly two centuries, to a King on the Scottish throne—the deeper in¬ terest yet, with which every syllable of an eloquent and affectionate answer from the King was hstened to, presented a * Six addresses only were received on the throne, viz. those of the City of Edinburgh, the Church of Scotland, and the four Universities. 67 scene well worthy to conclude the events of a day not more new in the hfe of every individual of the thousands who enjoyed it, than in the experience of the Sove¬ reign himself. LETTER III. ■-“ He shall have every day A several greeting.” Anth. Cleop. In my last letter, Sir, while I attempted to describe the striking features of the memorable reception of his Majesty King George the Fourth, on the day of his landing in Scotland,—those which indica¬ ted enthusiasm for our Sovereign, as weE as pride in our country,—I endeavoured to avoid encumbering the description with any details which do not lead to an important and profitable moral conclu¬ sion. There is much inestimable mate¬ rial of the same apphcation in the subse¬ quent events of this auspicious visit;— there is patriotism, and loyalty, good taste, right feeling, and sound principle,^ without which these scenes, gorgeous, picturesque and romantic, externaUy, as 69 they were, had been empty shadows and childish pageants. It was gratifying to all ranks to wit¬ ness brilliant levees and drawing rooms in Scotland. These displays infer solid wealth in a wise people who do nothing beyond their means. To be statistically convinced of the strides to improvement which tliis northern part of the island has made in comparatively a few years, to witness what energy of character wiU atchieve over the most formidable physi¬ cal obstructions, we must visit the actual face of the country, and see its scientific and productive and yet economical agri¬ culture, its enterprising commerce, and gigantic manufactures—with the Insti¬ tutions, Associations, and all the moral stimuli which move the great machine of our prosperity, and render Scotland, not absolutely, indeed, but relatively to its population, soil and climate, one of the best endowed countries in Europe. If we could imagine the ignorant, bigotted, 70 and indolent Spaniard inhabiting the soil of Scotland, it would yet be what it once was, one of the poorest. When our King came amongst us, it was hke- ly that his court should afford a very fair test of the advance of the country in wealth, taste, and elegance. Nearly five hundred carriages were in the line, on the day of the levee, and a still greater number on that of the drawing-room.* The assemblage on both occasions was brilliant, far beyond the expectations of the most sanguine; and in every way such as did honour to the flattering visit of our King. The association of contrast was soon called into action. It irresistibly led to the comparison of the gay crowd which filled the arcades and stairs, the galleries, corri¬ dors, and chambers of Holyrood, with the wonted silent gloom which we have * It is calculated that nearly a thousand carriages were on the ground at the review, a few days after¬ wards. 71 long considered the very spirit of the scene, the 7'eligio loci, so well suited to the frame of mind in which we have always visited that solemn rehck of royalty.* Mary’s apartments as she lived in them, Riz- zio’s blood yet staining the floor, Darn- ly’s armour, were all remembered— pale Ruthven horrifying, and stern Knox rebuking the beautiful but unthinking Queen, were again before our eyes. The throneless Bourbons, rather increasing than relieving the melancholy memories of the place,foramoment glanced through the fancy. It was now the residence of a great Monarch surrounded by a splen¬ did court, in the midst of a loyal and a happy people bearing the proofs of that wealth and ease which enteiiDrise creates and good government protects, and evincing to the world that Scotland, perhaps “ too long forgot,” is up to the * I once heard an intelligent stranger, when told that there was little to be seen in Holyroocl, answer, that there was nevertheless much to be I’clt. 72 mark of modern times in the worthy en¬ tertainment of a great King. It was a new epoch for Holyrood; and new asso¬ ciations wiU now add themselves to the old, in the fancy of its future visitors. Two great events of deeply contrasted but yet closely related character occur¬ ring, after an interval, in the same place, always afford an interesting subject of contemplation. On the precise spot where Louis Sixteenth was martyred, stood the conquerors of France, twenty- five years afterwards, to see their armies pass in review;—^and on his first landing at St Helena, Napoleon lodged for some time in the same house, and slept in the same bed, wliich had accommodated Sir Arthur Wellesley, returning from India to commence that magnificent rivalship which was destined to end so gloriously. So when the carriages in waiting fiUed the park behind the palace, many thought of the ill-fated Chevalier, mounting on horseback, on the same spot, to shew 73 himself to the multitudes that flocked to see him after his first romantic victory. But the more memorable circumstance remains—on those grounds, through eve¬ ry court and arcade of that palace, in enthusiastic attendance on the King, were the very chieftains and clans, who, seventy years before, crowded the same purheus, the implacable enemies of his house, flushed with recent victory over its troops, and devoted heart and soul to its opponent! “ Clanronald the dauntless, and Murray the proud,” hailing the Star of Brunswick which their grandfathers had defied, and drawing for George the Fourth, the same clay¬ mores which their grandfathers brandish¬ ed, in the heart of England, against George the Second ! It was well ima¬ gined, and indeed quite essential to a spirit of universal concihation, that rich¬ est and best fruit of the royal visit, to summon to the capital, and bring around their King, these gallant men. For al- 74 though their Sovereign had heard of, and duly appreciated their heroism in his ar¬ mies, he had never met them as cliiefs andfollowers,with their romantic costume and wild music, fresh from their glens and mountains. The opinion is not un¬ common, that the Highlanders, being a small part of the Scottish population, in number, and a smaller still in wealth and social importance,—a less richly chroni¬ cled, although not less brave people than their lowland neighbours, had more than their share of the Koyal notice; that the whole land was tartanized, in the royal eye, from Pentland to Solway, much in the same manner as the Welsh might be made to overshadow the rest of the people of England. I trust I know and sufficiently value and reverence the foundations of Scottish eminence and patriotism, which are not Celtic, nay which were anti Celtic; but I confess, till I considered the current lowland argu¬ ments, which are no doubt very weighty. 75 I saw only, in this reception of the High¬ landers, the uninquiring overjoy of a sort ofre^wrwto the harmony of the great family of Britain, which event, though now of old date, had not yet been treated with that feast of Koyal favour, which, I think, the more habitually dutiful are ungenerous to grudge. I was one of those who much enjoyed the enthusiasm, and easily par¬ doned the over-importance of the clans; and could not help contrasting their late with their former entrance to Edinburgh, when Lochiel’s ambush rushed at sun¬ rise into the city, and shewed to the startled inhabitants, when they awoke, plaids and plumes and claymores under their windows, in undisputed possession of the town.* All must admit that they, formed a highly romantic and interesting * The Highland soldiery by no means oppressed the city of Edinburgh upon that occasion. The ex- tremest case of military execution of which I have heard, was a Highlander’s levelling a musket at a wealthy citizen, and demanding in a manner which precluded parley —a pawpee! 76 addition to the general picture, on the late occasion; and moreover contributed, by their loyalty, to seal the satisfactory truth, that a Monarch was now in these palace courts, whose throne is sustained and defended by the unanimous attach¬ ment of the country. Addresses poured in from all the de¬ nominations into which the nation is di¬ vided, in a strain of affectionate loyalty never before exceeded. There was but one sentiment animating the entire peo¬ ple, individually, corporately, and collec¬ tively. The Sovereign had, on the day of his landing, seen the population of the coun¬ try at large, in the great representative multitude who welcomed him to the land of his ancestors; but he had not yet visited his ancient capital, nor seen its in¬ habitants, as such, in their various civic distinctions. He had yet, too, to inspect the fine old citadel, which is governed in his name, and displays his triumphant 77 standard on its walls. His road to the castle being along the ancient High Street, the admirable project was your’s to marshal the citizens, in their classes, as a guard to their King, and al¬ lot them stations on the street, where each denomination might announce itself by its banner, or some suitable emblem. The general approbation of this arrange¬ ment, proved how much it accorded with the public feeling. To this proposal, as to all proposals which are in their esti¬ mation vulgarized by very general and cordial popularity, there were a few very critical persons who objected. With your¬ self I was one of the million, and firmly believe that in matters of feeling, that is the way to be right. I thought this Pro- gross, as it was called, had more of senti¬ ment in it, than any other part of the judi¬ cious arrangements, which so well brought out the whole effect of a Koyal visit. It was, nevertheless, called meaningless, a ceremony without rational end or object. 78 at best a mere repetition of the procession of the first day. Now, I submit with defer¬ ence, it was as much a repetition of the first day’s cereremony, as a visit to me is a re¬ petition of a visit to my neighbour. The King had passed through a comer only of our city, on his way to his palace. Nine-tenths of his intercourse with his Scottish subjects at large, that day, were not within the city’s bounds. He had not visited the ancient city at all, and we should not have felt, had he done no more than take an angle of the new, as part of his road to another object, that he had visited his ancient capital as it deserves to be visited—in regal state, ac¬ knowledged by and acknowledging its special inhabitants, in those respectable classifications which connect them with their own community, and do them ho¬ nour in the eye of their countiy. In what other mode, than in regal state, could our Monarch pass beneath the shadows of those ancient habitations, 79 which, ill Gothic grandeur, had witness¬ ed regal state in times long past—which had seen monarchs, and nobles, and par¬ liaments, traverse the same solemn route! Ought he alone, of all his line of kings, to have passed those streets in undigni¬ fied privacy ! No place could be imagin¬ ed more suitable than this ancient pave¬ ment for an array of the citizens, in those civic distinctions from which they derive their social weight, the best pledge of their social virtue. In those distinctions it was most fitting that they should meet their King. “ He saw the hardy burghers there, (J/iarmed on foot.” There, where they had before been mus¬ tered for many a gallant field. Was there nothing to touch their hearts, that the eye of their King should see the communities to which it was the ambi¬ tion of their lives to belong; and read on their banners, as he passed, that their warlike and civic merit w ere both of old 80 descent; that they were gallant soldiers^ ' for centuries, as well as useful artizans; and have ever been ready, as they ever will be, to arm when their country calls them ! Let tliis question be answered by the honest pride, the loyal zeal, with which aU the members of these associa¬ tions mustered for the high interview. They feel that these are the recollections that exalt the industrious freeman of an ancient Scottish burgh. They know the history of their country, which tells them that their kings were always their especial friends ; that it was their kings that honoured their walled towns with the name of Koyal, and looked to them, and were not deceived, for a con¬ stitutional counterpoise to the once dan¬ gerous power of the nobles. The high gratification which was felt by corpora¬ tion, and individual of corporation, to be called, with no intervening guard, into close but respectful contact with their ancient friend and patron the King, 81 the jealousy with which they claimed their established precedencies, the ho¬ nest pride with which they displayed those banners, which connect their hum¬ ble toil with Scotland’s proudest chivalry, were the proofs which they afforded of the value set by them upon this meeting with their Sovereign. By an extension of the principle, the merchants of the city’s ancient guild came zealously forward to hail the de¬ scendant of princes who had cordially befriended them. The professions—the clergy—the university—the schools—the institutions—the societies—the charities —all that form the corporate parts of the social whole, placed themselves in conspi¬ cuous view of the King. Was there, then, neither end nor object in the So¬ vereign reviewing this assemblage of his peaceful subjects! Gratifying them with a near sight of their King, and of that king occupied about them! There is something patriarchal in this meeting , G 82 of king and people, almost too pure and simple for the artificial refinement of mo¬ dern times. But these recollections of simpler ages touch deeply the heart; and this communing, primitive as it may ap¬ pear, did much, it is certain, for the Sove¬ reign in the affections of his Scottish subjects. There is a large space between the ancient city’s bounds and the castle, which, with excellent arrangement, was allotted to a sort of representation of the country at large—the lieutenancy of the counties, and the clergy of the country parishes. This was a very happy mode of employing that spacious esplanade, and the galleries erected upon it added much to the novel picture of the scene. Begal pomp was new to multitudes who flocked to the spectacle. There was judgment and taste in making that pomp strictly the pomp of the King of Scotland. The man is welcome to his fancied distinction, who pretends that 83 his heart did not dilate when the regal insignia, which that day passed before his eyes, told the high tale that his country is not a province, but a kingdom, with aU the circumstance of state its own, as independent and as ancient as that of England herself. The heraldry, and its Lyon King, were the same which, with trumpet sound, ushered the Scottish monarchs, their councils, and their par¬ liaments, along the same path of stateli¬ ness. The same plumed Knight Mari- schal, pricked foremost in the pageant. The same ermine-robed High Constable kept the peace in the royal presence, and carried, the symbol of his power, the same sword of state. The Premier Duke bore the same crown—the Premier Earl the same sceptre, for the brow of Bruce, and the white hand of Mary. The spec¬ tacle reaped a great accession, too, from the splendid cortege of these high offi¬ cers and their gorgeous train. Squires and pages, in the light grace of the an- 84 tique Spanish costume—the royal arch¬ ers, the privileged body guard of the King, with many of the noblest of the land in their ranks, in a garb of singular romance and elegance—the varied and warhke highlanders,—the well appoint¬ ed yeomanry,—and last, and not least, Scotland’s own favourites, the gigantic Greys, with “ victory on their plumes,” the “ ehevaux terrihles'^ of the most ter¬ rible of fields—all combined to form a spectacle, not of mere show^ but which spoke home to some of our proudest na#- tional feelings. Every part of the ceremony of the day was impressive, affecting, almost scenic. The King, on entering the castle, was for a few minutes lost to the view of his ad¬ miring subjects, to re-appear in one of the most strikingly romantic and subhme positions perhaps ever occupied by a king. He was recognized above the lofty fine of embrasures on the half-moon battery of the castle. The effect of this was quite be¬ yond words. While he looked round on 85 the noble picture of city and country,' land and sea, hill and valley spread out before him, and saw at one glance the assembled myriads of his subjects by whom he had just been hailed, he was himself visible to every eye; and alone, on the battlements, the royal standard waving over his head, the artillery flash¬ ing under his feet, while every tongue shouted, and every eye glistened, stood the commanding figure of the British Monarch, the father of his people, bless¬ ing and blessed by his exulting children ! The scene, the occasion, the assemblage, the personage, combined to render this juncture the most sublimely pathetic that human affairs could exhibit. It rained at the moment, and his Majesty was re¬ quested to permit his uncovered head to be screened by an attendant. “ I don’t mind the rain,” he said, “ I must cheer my people.” With extended arm he waved his hat several times—and he did cheer his people. 86 There was policy as well as good taste ill every day’s employment. It was right and fitting to call the hardy yeomanry from the country, to see and he seen by the Sovereign whose sword they draw, whose constitutional crown they guard, and whose peace they preserve. Who shall doubt that the day when George the Fourth passed along their line—the 9,3d of August 1822—^will be told to their children’s children, and will redouble their fidelity, loyalty, and patriotism ? The enthusiasm with which our Mo¬ narch was received by all ranks was best manifested by the exertions made by all ranks to do him honour. There was a munificent rivalry in this loyal duty, especially among the public bo¬ dies. It was to be expected that a combined effort of the Peerage would not yield in costly magnificence to any other made for the welcome Monarch. AU the nobles of Scotland were in Edin¬ burgh, delighting their countrymen with 87 a generous and patriotic display of their pride in their native land; with whose an¬ cient chivahy and independence, more than with the modern lustre of the Bri¬ tish court, their true nobility is associated. There was excellent tact in their shew¬ ing that they are high-born men in their own land; that they liave a country of their own which they illustrate—and more, wliich illustrates them; a country whose liigh character, shedding a softened light on the head of the humblest educa¬ ted peasant, rises in beauty through all the gradations of rank, till it adorns the co¬ ronet of the peer with the purest moral lustre. A ball was the entertainment which his Majesty condescended to accept from liis Scottish Peers, and it is believed a more magnificent was never witnessed, even by his Majesty.* * A very minute and spirited description, of this truly gorgeous, and fairy like scenes—which was re¬ peated some nights afterwards in a ball given to his Majesty by the membei's of the Caledonian Hunt— tlie sumptuous decoration of rooms already built, and 88 The King was next to meet with his Scottish subjects convivially; and the ban¬ quet, as it was well entitled to be called, was truly king-hke. There was more of state about it than in the more gay splendour of the balls, and the greater solemnity suit¬ ed well the greater dignity of the occasion. It was given in the greathallof the supreme courts—the Westminster hall of the north —which was fitted up for it in a style for which there is no fitter expression than majestic.* Three hundred of the the magical conjuration of others of temporary erec¬ tion, in a style of Asiatic lightness and elegance,—is given in the “ Historical Account of his Majesty’s Visit to Scotland,” published by Oliver and Boyd of Edinburgh. To this work the author is happy to make reference in general, for, what is not his pro¬ vince, the minutest details of all the occurrences of that auspicious fortnight. * It is questionable if any city in Europe possesses four finer halls, than those in which his Majesty was on different occasions entertained. The George-street Assembly-rooms—the outer Parliament house—and the Signet and Advocates’ libraries. While the guests to the banquet assembled in the Signet library, the King was received by the Lord Provost, State offi¬ cers, and Privy-councillors in the Advocates’, as a 89 tike of his Scottish subjects stood in re¬ spectful silence, the anthem echoing, the while, from the orchestras, as the King of the British empire, nobly attended, passed up the whole length of the an¬ tique hall of the Scottish parHament, to the royal dais, and seated himself at ta¬ ble, under a canopy. That hall had its peculiar and affecting associations. Royal pomp had been there before;—parha- ments had there deliberated;—laws had there been made. At that gratifying moment, in their Monarch’s presence, sat the rank, and worth, and talent, which would now have formed the Scot¬ tish parliament, had it stiU a separate existence; but never did its venerable withdrawing room, which communicates by a beauti¬ ful corridore and staircase with the banquet room. The graceful and lengthened Corinthian columna- tion of the Advocates’ library much pleased the King. During the time he remained in it, he sur¬ veyed it in different points of view, and dwelt upon its elegance, as he sat on a sofa at its upper end, with very cordially expressed satisfaction. 90 and beautiful ro©^ with its gilded knosps and antique buttresses, stretch over a scene so splendid and sumptuous as it now witnessed. This was the time to observe the full effect of the Sovereign’s presence upon the most select class of his people. Not a guest was there unimbued with the pride and self-respect of an educated Bri¬ tish gentleman. Opposite political par¬ ties, too, checked in each other inordinate homage or slavish adulation; yet the loudest acclaim out of doors was tame to the burst of delight here, when the cup was filled, and The King” was hailed! The King in presence! The artillery of mountain and flood, in a circuit of miles, was instantly awakened by rocket signal, and joyfully “disturbing aU theair,’^ told to half a million who heard it, that the pledge was given at that glorious mo¬ ment.*' The shouts—^the trumpets—the * Many persons in and near the town, who expect¬ ed the royal salute to announce the moment of the 91 chorus—the cannon—the King] were as sublime a conjuncture as could re¬ gale the imagination or touch the heart. The ordnance continued to reverberate during the whole of the King’s reply, the more sublimely that not a breath broke the stillness of the hall as he spoke. This proud accompaniment to a Mo¬ narch’s accents produced a thrill of awe the most exquisite that it was possible to experience. Again the Monarch rose, and drank to the prosperity of his ancient City of Edinburgh, and, with all the grace of a gentleman and the warmth of a friend, announced the new honours of its chief magistrate. And again there came— . . ..“ That thrice-repeated cry In which old Albion’s heart and tongue unite, “ Whene’er her soul is up, and pulse beats high, “ Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight, “ And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light.” A third time, there was silence to toast, were ready to join in it, while the cannon were firing. 92 “ list a king,” and never were hearts more won than those to whose prolonged acclaim their Prince retired, after he had invoked “ God Almighty to bless the land,” with a fervour, of which the memory of none who heard it can ever lose the impres¬ sion.* To join with his people in their devo¬ tions was the next most truly popular act of our excellent King. Nothing done by liim gave more genuine satisfac¬ tion to the Scottish people. It was the * His Majesty, besides a very feeling answer to the enthusiasm with whicli his own health was drunk, proposed two toasts himself. His first was to the City of Edinburgh, which he complimented by in¬ cluding the health of its Lord Provost “ Sir William Arluthnot, Baronef ’’—the most graceful and conside¬ rate manner in which a new dignity was perhaps ever conferred. The applause which followed expressed a twofold feeling,—a sense both of how well the ho¬ nour was announced, and how well it was merited. The judgment and taste displayed by the Lord Pro¬ vost and Magistrates, for the honour of the King and the credit of the City, are too well known to their fel¬ low citizens, and too gratefully felt by them to re¬ quire here to be farther eulogized. 98 more gratifying to witness onr Sovereign’s respect for our establishment, that it is not bis own, and that he is not the con¬ stitutional head of the Church of Scot¬ land. He had, in a dignified and elo¬ quent answer, from the throne, to the ad¬ dress of the General Assembly of the Church, assured the nation of his main^ tenance of those rights and privileges inviolate, to which the Church of Scot¬ land is entitled by the most solemn com¬ pacts but there would have been a de¬ fect which all would have felt if he had not entered its temples, and joined in its simple worship. To St Giles’s church, where kings have sat before, and where a throne has remained,* came in regal state, on the 25th August 1822, King George the Fourth—an event well worthy of a place in the history of the Church of Scotland. * The throne in St Giles’s Church is used annual¬ ly by his Grace the Lord High Commissioner, who represents the Sovereign at the meeting of the Gene¬ ral Assembly of the Church of Scotland. 94 In his way from his palace, he passed through many thousands of his subjects, who stood uncovered; but, respectful to the day and their Monarch’s frame of mind, they stood silent. The sound of the horses feet and carriage wheels alone broke the stillness of the scene. It is not doubt¬ ful that nothing was finer than this, no¬ thing in better feeling, and better taste, nothing more indicative of a dignified national character, nothing more grati¬ fying to the King himself, in aU his meet¬ ings with his Scottish people. The offi¬ ciating clergyman,* feehng himself to be in higher presence than the king’s, ac¬ knowledged no difference in the duties and spiritual interests of the monarch and the humblest of his hearers. He neither preached to the King nor at the King— but he preached the uncompromising truths of the Book which lay before him, in which there is no preference of created * Dr Lament, the Moderator of the General As¬ sembly. 95 being. But when he gave forth the ex¬ temporaneous prayer which the Scottish ritual enjoins, there was a special bles¬ sing invoked on the sacred head of our King, as new and striking to him,—ac¬ customed to a set form of prayer,—as it was solemn and pathetic to every one who heard and joined in its fervent im¬ port. An immense but impressively silent crowd waited to witness his Majesty’s re¬ turn. They had waited, so that none were yet to arrive; there was on that ac¬ count even more of stillness than before; heads were again respectfully uncover¬ ed, and not a voice was raised to attract his Majesty from the privacy which, in approbation of so much propriety, he ma¬ nifestly courted. The King was in nothing to leave his subjects ungratified. He patronised the august ceremony of laying the foundation stone of their national monument, and is held to have laid it himself, through a 96 Eoyal Commission of several of the first nobles of the land. Nothing could be better timed. A new impulse has thus been given to that noble undertaking, superadding to all its former attractions of patriotism and taste, a powerful, and, it is trusted, most effectual association of affectionate loyalty. The day is the nearer that we shall see reahzed that orna¬ ment to our country, that record of her past, and incentive to her future greatness; and when even possessing such a model of taste, while a few years more will for ever obliterate its Greek prototype, we shall proudly say,— ■-— Oh mark on high, Crowning yon hill with temples richly graced, That fane august in perfect symmetry The purest model of Athenian taste, Fair Parthenon ! Thy Doric pillars rise In simple dignity- And. art o’er all thy light proportions throws The harmony of grace, the beauty of repose.”* One kind act of condescension more * “ Modern Greece,” one of the earlier poems of the highly gifted Mrs Hemans. 97 remained to be performed by our consi¬ derate Monarch, before his departure. He was to meet his subjects in the mirth of the theatre, and thus complete the circle of all their sympathies, and modes of so¬ cial being and enjoyment. He had seen his Scottish people in various and interesting characters. He had seen them densely lining his path, crowning their ’vantage grounds, their heights, their mountains: “ Climbing to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea to chimney tops,” to hail him when he landed on their na¬ tive shore. He had seen them crowd to his palace halls to do him affectionate homage. He had seen them in their ar¬ ray of war—in their prouder marshalment of prosperity and peace. He had seen the inspiring gaiety of their national dance, and himself “ beat the measure” of their country’s stirring music. He had feasted with his happy people. He H 98 iiacl devoutly joined in their prayers, and met with them in that house where all are equal in their Maker’s presence. He had founded a glorious monument to their martial fame. But he had not yet relaxed, in their presence, from a certain solemn state, with the impression of which he must have left them, but for his visit to the theatre. There the humour of the inimitable Baihe Jarvie doubly dehghted the crowded audience, because it delight¬ ed their King, and because it seemed to bring them nearer to the range of his or¬ dinary sympathies—into more of a sort of fellowship with him, than on any of the former occasions. It is not merely to see the King, that the theatre is eagerly thronged which he visits. It is to feel with him, to applaud with him, to laugh with him, to weep with him. It is this love of sympathy with him that leads every eye to his countenance, when any thing is said or acted that strikes or pleases. It is this that makes the lively 99 air more spirited, to which he moves his head in cadence—the song more sweet which he applauds—the actor more va¬ lued whom he encourages—the humour more irresistible which makes him smile —and, if he laughs, there is a burst of merriment in every tier of the house. Never were king’s emotions more ga¬ zed at, watched, obeyed, reflected,—than those of George the Fourth in the theatre of Edinburgh; and never yet did theatre echo and rebound with more unanimous, more tumultuous peals of affection and applause.* As his Majesty sojourned amongst us, the public feeling towards him had softened—^had mellowed from unmingled awe to something of kindhness, and al¬ most friendship. Every thing he had done had been considerate, disinterested, * The performers are said to have observed, that the spectators in the pit were so engrossed with the King, that they presented their profiles only to the stage. 100 and condescending; every thing testi¬ fied his high regard and love for his people. There could not have been a more beautiful, a more hallowed result of his visit, than this growth of affection for his person; or a more heart improv¬ ing triumph over aU the vile arts which had been long used to traduce him. The hour of his departure came, and there was more of melancholy in the parting salvo, told gun by gun from the dark castle rock, as if it too sorrowed, than there was even of joy in its arous¬ ing welcome. The King was soon out of hearing of the final greetings and blessings of assembled thousands; and after doing honour to the lordly hospita¬ lity of a nobleman whose name is written in the most dazzling page of his country’s history,* the Monarch of Britain was again on Britain’s element, the Deep. * The Earl of Hopetoun. As Sir John Hope, se¬ cond in command in the Peninsular war. 101 It was said by many, and truly said, that there was an aspect of cheerfulness and health manifest in the King’s coun¬ tenance, which had visibly increased du¬ ring his stay; as if he had felt himself at ease among his people, and had found salubrity in the northern air. It is known, indeed, from good authority, that his Majesty declared that he had not been better for years. That intense public excitement, which the royal presence occasioned, naturally moderated, and its expression gradually disappeared, after the curtain had drop¬ ped upon the most memorable di’ama which Scotland had seen for centuries. But its impression will never fade from the hearts and memories of those who witnessed it. It will ever be a subject of dehghtful retrospect and interesting discourse, and its moral and political ef¬ fects wiU interweave themselves with the well-being of the country for ages to come. LETTER IV. “We look up with awe to kings. Wby.^ Because it is natural to be so affected.” Edmund BurJce. Although, in the very inadequate de¬ scription which I have given, in the two preceding Letters, of one of the most striking events of our peaceful times, I may have appeared to have been guided, or it may be said impelled by no ordi¬ nary feehng, it is very essential to the more didactic views which I now beg leave to submit to you, that I shall not be held in any degree to have given an exaggerated picture of the pubhc enthu¬ siasm on the occasion. I have endeavour¬ ed to set a guard upon my own feehngs, and have abstained from imputing to others any sentiments which have not the clearest warrant, in the concurring testimony of 103 a very great number of persons of every possible variety of taste and tempera¬ ment, and every gradation of intellectual power and education. I did not trust to the bursts of feeling which I had, from pecuHar circumstances, the best means of personally witnessing in the people at large, of all denominations, and in every possible situation, but I have coiu*ted opportunities to learn the real senti¬ ments, after the paroxysms subsided, not merely of the “ notoriously loyal,” as they are called, but of persons, and classes of persons, who at least used to be very self-possessed in that matter, and even whom the very loyal would not have con¬ sidered loyal at all. The result has been a conscientious belief that the foregoing description is below the average tone of excitement, in the country, on the sub¬ ject of the royal visit. Several of my friends who narrowly observed with me the indications of the feelings of the lower classes, and as much as possible gathered 104 their prevailing sentiments, found among them a cordiahty, good-will and kindly- ness to the royal person, much more pleasing than absolutely anticipated; an attachment, which made these classes indefatigable in their exertions, not only to manifest respect to him whenever he appeared, but, to a degree which has not, in the preceding Letters, been exaggera¬ ted, anxious to appear well before him ;— as unequivocal a test of respect as they could possibly have indicated. The con¬ sideration of these, however, as well as of other happy effects of the royal visit, which have been ascertained, on subse¬ quent careful inquiry, to promise to be permanent, will suit better the conclu¬ sion of these Letters. An inquiry presents itself here which claims a place in tliis discussion; and which, besides strengthening the gene¬ ral doctrine of these Letters, has in it¬ self considerable interest, as it is not in the course of more ordinary reading, and as it explains much that has late- 105 ly passed before our eyes. What arc the foundations of all the cordial and even enthusiastic attachment to our King which we have witnessed ? I shall de¬ vote this letter, Sir, with your leave, to an examination of the natural impulse of homage to royalty,—and in the next shew how it is exalted and purified by hberty and light in the bosoms of a free people. There is an impulse of nature, ma¬ nifested from the instant man finds him¬ self in the society of his fellow-crea¬ tures, to create a supreme chief and pay him homage. Whether it be, that strength, valour, and wisdom lead their barbaric possessor to assume dominion over his fellows, or induce them to confer it on him, it is not here material to inquire. Certain it is, that we find no primitive community, without a chief, and if their rude fife does not enable them to elevate him to absolute splendour, he is always found in the utmost grandeur, according to his subjects’ notions, which their means 106 will permit; and moreover we gener¬ ally find him despotic over his fellow- men, whom he leads in war and rules in peace. This impulse, acting alone, leads to the most abject servility to the chief’s power; but it is of moment to observe that there is such an impulse opera¬ ting on a rude people, and that their ruler becomes a despot, because his subjects glory in making him one. It is instructive to observe, as what may be called barbaric civilization advances, and the chief has an exterior more daz- zhng than the club and the hon’s skin, has arrived at “ pearls and gold,” crowns, thrones, and scepters, how much this adoration increases, till it amounts to absolute prostration to a man who is told, and who is educated to believe that he is a deity. The eastern nations of anti¬ quity, including the Jews, entertained the highest conceptions of royalty; and by the language they applied to mo- narchs, held that state to be the highest conceivable of glory and happiness. “ To 107 stand in the King’s presence,” implied, among the Jews, the most eminent con¬ sequence and dignity. To come into his presence, “ to come unto the King in the inner court uncalled,” was, by a law of the conquerors of Babylon, punishable with death.* The ancient Persians, in their reverence for their kings, approached to idolatry. Alexander adopted their ho¬ mage as a model for the prostrations of his Macedonians; wishing, as Quintus Curtius says, not only to be called but to be believed to be the son of Jove.f It was but a step farther, although re¬ ferable to an age much prior to that of “ Macedonia’s madman,” for a prostrate race to make gods of their kings,—the un¬ questioned origin of the Belus of the Assyrians, and probably of the Saturn and Jupiter of the Greeks and Komans. The same impulse is to be found opera- * Esther, 4th chapter. Herodotus alludes to this law. f Quint. Curt. lib. viii. c. 5. 108 ting at a much later period among the Greeks, although certainly not to the length of regular apotheosis. Thucy¬ dides bears testimony, that the names of those who rendered personal services to the King were inscribed in the pubhc registers. That a much higher degree of refinement is not incompatible with tliis devotion to royalty, is exemplified in modern times. The habit will long survive a rude age, and will form the leading feature of national character in a highly refined people, who will glory in their Monarch’s absolute and arbitrary power, as the brightest jewel of his dia¬ dem. It was the chief boast of the French, that the power of their Grand Monarque over his subjects far exceeded that of the King of Great Britain. To none the anecdote can possibly be new, of the old French officer who was agitated in the presence of Louis XIV. and who ex¬ pressed his hope that his Majesty did not think he trembled thus in presence of his 109 enemies. But it is not to the instances of nations, who have still to outgrow the habits and prejudices of their infancy, that we are to look to be convinced of the deep foundation in our nature of awe in the presence of a king. In our own free and enlightened country, mere reverence for the constitutional chief magistrate would never produce the effect which we know the presence of our King has produced—it matters not upon what rank or eminence; for above the highest, “ the crown is set at a dizzy height,”—it matters not upon what weight of character, power of mind, or distinction of talent,—majesty extin¬ guishes all other lustre, and proves that “ A substitute shines brightly as a king “ Until a king be by.”- It would not be held as disparaging, as even irreverent to the memory of our late respected King to say, that in mind and accomplishment befell short of that intel¬ lectual giant Samuel Johnson; or that his 110 ' did not I reach the genius of Goldsmith. Yet in the celebrated interview between liis Majesty, then a young man, and Dr Johnson, more than double his age, in the library at Buckingham-house, it is known that Johnson was taken by sur¬ prise, in spite of all his strength of mind; that he was more vain of this instance of royal notice than of any thing that ever occurred to him; and that an express assemblage of most of the celebrated wits of the time was called at Sir Joshua Bey- nolds’, to hear Dr Johnson narrate the incident, which he did with the greatest and most delighted minuteness. It is related by Boswell, that Goldsmith, who was of the party, did not form one of the eager circle of his auditors, but sat apart as if chagrined and envious of the hon¬ our Dr Johnson had lately enjoyed. “At length,” says the biographer, “ the frank¬ ness and simplicity of his natural cha¬ racter prevailed. He sprung from the sofa, advanced to Johnson, and in a kind Ill of flutter, from imagining himself in the situation which he had just been hear¬ ing described, exclaimed, ‘ Well, you ac¬ quitted yourself in this conversation bet¬ ter than I should have done ; for I should have bowed and stammered through the whole of it!” Thus was the operation of the instinct,—of that part of the homage to rank which nature has implanted in our bosoms, avowed by two of the most ac- comphshed men that any age or country has produced, and by an illustrious circle of intellectual rank, who assembled to manifest their participation in the same sentiment. Yet was there nothing slavish, in such feehngs, in the breasts of those accomplished Englishmen ; nothing that would have overborne, in their minds, their high-principled love of liberty, and devotion to their country’s constitution ; nothing which would have marked them the inferiors of the Hampdens, the Kus- sels, the Sidneys, and the Temples, if put to the stern test of judging between 112 their king and their liberties. The same patriots, be it ever remembered, who forced James to abdicate his throne, had, with an enthusiasm, of which even we can form but a shght conception, resto¬ red the exiled Charles; and when, by the flight of his successor, again at per¬ fect liberty to choose, they decided for another king. It is from such exam¬ ples that we are entitled to draw the conclusion, that there is a disposition in human nature to elevate, reverence, and love a chief or king,—a disposition which leads to servility and debasement, only when unregulated by higher principles, and more enlightened sentiments. Adam Smith, the eloquent teacher of the philosophy of human sympathies, does not rest content with the fact that man is actuated by a strong disposition to pay homage to a chief or king; as if it were ultimate and unexplainable in his constitution. He analyses it into yet simpler elements; and there is no part 113 of his elegant exposition of the founda¬ tion of our moral sentiments, in which he is more successful. Plis doctrine is in sub¬ stance the following. That we are more prone to sympathise, and do sympathise more perfectly, \^ith others’ joys than with others’ sorrows with their suc¬ cesses rather than with their disappoint¬ ments. Judging, and judging rightly, from our dispositions towards our fellow- men, of what must be their dispositions towards ourselves, we know from experi¬ ence when we are the objects of their sympathy, and we display those qualities, which secure sympathy, and conceal those which have an opposite tendency. We accordingly display our riches and dis¬ tinctions, and hide our poverty and other marks of insignificance. Our desire of this sympathy is the never-ceasing stimulus to all our toils and labours “ybr bettering * Of course the author speaks of our feelings for tliose not connected with us by the closer ties of af¬ fection and relationship. I 114 our condition, M^iich labours, if conti¬ nued one hour after our natural wants are fully supplied, have another object, and that is distinction, and distinction is the sympathy of our fellow-men with our success and consequent joy. “To be observed, to be attended to, to be taken notice of with sympathy, complacency, and approbation, are all the advantages we can propose to derive from it,”—(the improvement of our condition.) This dilates the heart of the rich man. He feels assured that all mankind are dis¬ posed to go along with him in the agree¬ able emotions with which the advantages of his situation naturally inspire him. The poor man, on the contrary, is con¬ scious of his insignificance, and feels not only the want of the sympathy of others, with his humble cares and labours, but is aware of their contempt for them. “ The man of rank,” says that able mo¬ ralist, “ is observed by all the world. Every body is eager to look at liim, and 115 to conceive, by sympathy, that joy and exultation with which liis circumstances naturally inspire him. His actions are the objects of the public care. Scarce a word, scarce a gesture can fall from him that is altogether neglected. In a great assembly he is the person upon whom all direct their eyes; it is upon him that the passions seem all to wait with expec¬ tation, in order to receive that movement and direction which he shall impress upon them; and, if his behaviour is not altogether absurd, he has every moment an opportunity of interesting mankind, and of rendering himself the object of the observation and fellow-feehng of every body about him.” It is this which gives rank ail its fascination, and com¬ pensates, in the opinion of mankind, all its toil, anxiety, slavery, and mortifi¬ cation. The colours no doubt are delu¬ sive, but he is a rare philosopher who is not apt to be, who has not been, daz¬ zled with them. The higher the rank. IIG the more intense the fellow-feeling with its possessor. Eoyalty is the acme ,— far beyond that pitch of the improve¬ ment of our condition, which, in our idlest reveries we have sketched out for ourselves. Our sympathy with a King is complete. We would favour all his inchnations, and forward all his wishes. “ What pity, we think, that any thing should spoil and corrupt so agreeable a situation ! We could even wish him im¬ mortal, for it seems to us hard that death should put an end to such perfect enjoyment.” It was therefore the cour¬ tiers of Belshazzar prefaced every word they ventured to speak in his presence, with the prayer, “ Great King, live for ever !” The misfortunes of kings excite in our breasts much more compassion and resentment than those of other men. Hence some of the feehng, as well as the laws against treason. The misfor¬ tunes of kings are the favourite subjects for tragedy. All the blood shed in the 117 civil wars, provoked less indignation than the death of Charles I.—and when Louis XVI. was led to the block and murdered by the butchers of the French revolu¬ tion, the event caused even in this country—which had only been a few years at peace with him—emotions of grief so strong, that the narrative was at the time heard by few without tears. Tliis disposition to a feUow-feeling with the exultation of the rich and powerful, has one character which redeems it from much of what is sinister or deformed in human passions,—with the milhon, it is disinterested. Mandeville liimselfmight have been defied to have traced it, in their minds, to a selfish feefing. The ho¬ mage is paid, in the knowledge of the im¬ possibility of the smallest advantage re¬ sulting from it. The benefits in the power of the great cannot extend to the thou¬ sandth part of those who nevertheless most cordially, most enthusiastically do them homage. A little leaven of selfish- 118 ness may mingle in the motives of those who are permitted to approach, and still more to serve them. If they will but permit their admirers to do them ser¬ vice, the vanity or the distinction of obhging them is ample reward.* There is moreover no sense of utility or sub¬ mission to the order of society in all this. One passage in “ The Theory of Moral Sentiments” speaks volumes on this point, and is most apposite to the purpose of this letter. “ Even when the order of society seems to require that we should oppose them, we can hardly bring our¬ selves to do it. That kings are the ser¬ vants of the people, to be obeyed, resist¬ ed, deposed, or punished as the public convenience may require,-]- is the doctrine of reason and philosophy; but it is not * A slight rain fell at Holyrood when his Majesty was one day going from his carriage into the private door. An attendant called—“ An umbrella for the King!” a hundred were offered, and a cry of “ take mine ! take mine !” came from every quarter. -f A king, says Lord Bacon, “ is the servant of his people, or else he were without a calling at all.” 119 the doctrine of nature. Nature would teach us to submit to them for their own sake, to tremble and bow down before their exalted station, to regard their smile as a reward sufficient to compensate any services, and to dread their displeasure, though no other evil were to follow from it, as the severest of all mortifications. To treat them in any respect as men, to reason and dispute with them on ordi¬ nary occasions, requires such resolution, that there are few men whose magnani¬ mity can support them in it, unless they are likewise assisted by familiarity or ac¬ quaintance.* The strongest motives, the most furious passions, fear, hatred, and resentment, are scarce sufficient to ba¬ lance this natm’al disposition to respect them ; and their conduct must, either justly or unjustly, have excited the high¬ est degree of all these passions, before the bulk of the people can be brought to op- * “ What earthly name to interrogatories Can task the free brcatii of a sacred King?” Shahspcarc'^ K. John. 120 pose them with violence, or to desire to see them either punished or deposed. Even when the people have been brought this length, they are apt to relent every moment, and easily relapse into their perpetual state of deference to those to whom they have been accustomed to look up as their natural superiors. They can¬ not stand the mortification of their mo¬ narch. Compassion soon takes the place of resentment, they forget all past pro¬ vocations, their old principles of loyalty revive, and they run to re-establish the ruined authority of their old master with the same violence with which they had opposed it. The death of Charles I. brought about the restoration of the royal family. Compassion for James IT. when he was seized by the populace in making his escape on shipboard, had almost pre¬ vented the Kevolution, and made it go on more heavily than before.”* * I do not assent to the justness of all these illus¬ trations—such as that the death of Charles I. exclu- brought about the restoration,—I however think the general theory just. 121 Shakespeare, that “ priest of nature,” knew all this well when he conceived the scene where Mark Anthony gradually wins over the multitude, and exasperates them against Caesar’s murderers. Ceesar’s wounds were enough—they cordd not endure the sight;—but Caesar’s will, in which he had so affectionately remem¬ bered them, was conclusive, and sent them with mixed feelings of sorrow, of gratitude, and revenge, to rivet for ever the chains of Kome. / This dominion of the great over our affections is easy. Other men must toil to be distinguished, and few, very few, succeed. By graceful external behaviour, condescension and kindness, a king will achieve more, he will command mankind more, than any other man will do al¬ though in that man there should unite talent, knowledge, valour, and virtue, in their maximum. “ It is the loss of this easy empire over the affections 122 of mankind,” says Adam Smith, with even more than his usual beauty of tliought and fehcity of expression, “which renders the fall from greatness so in¬ supportable. Wlien the family of the King of Macedon was led in triumph by Paulus Aimihus, their misfortunes, it is said, made them divide, with their con¬ queror, the attention of the Koman peo¬ ple. The sight of the royal children, whose tender age made them insensible of their situation, struck the spectators, amidst the pubhc rejoicings and prospe¬ rity, with the tenderest sorrow and com¬ passion. The king appeared next in the procession; and seemed like one con¬ founded and astonished, and bereft of all sentiment by the greatness of his ca¬ lamities. His friends and ministers fol¬ lowed after him. As they moved along, they often cast their eyes upon their fallen sovereign, andal ways burst into tears at the sight; their whole behaviour demonstrat¬ ing that they thought not of their own mis- 123 fortunes, but were occupied entirely by the superior greatness of his. The gene¬ rous Romans, on the contrary, beheld liim with disdain and indignation, and regard¬ ed as unworthy of all compassion the man who could be so mean-spirited as to bear to live under such calamities. Yet what did these calamities amount to ? Accord¬ ing to the greater part of historians, he w^as to spend the remainder of liis days under the protection of a powerful and humane people, in a state which in itself should seem worthy of envy, a state of plenty, ease, leisure, and security, from which it was impossible for him, even by his own folly, to fall. But he was no longer to be surrounded by that admiring mob of fools, flatterers, and dependents, who had formerly been accustomed to attend upon all his motions. He was no longer to be gazed upon by multitudes, nor to have it in his power to render himself the object of their respect, their grati¬ tude, their love, their admiration. The 124 passions of nations were no longer to mould themselves on his inchnations. This was that insupportable calamity, which bereaved the king of all sentiment; which made Ms friends forget their own misfortunes; and which the Eoman mag¬ nanimity could scarce conceive, how any man could be so mean spirited as to bear to survive.” Man may well, then, be called a Icing- maldng^ as he has been defined by Frank¬ lin, a tool-making animal. The absence of a king, or something like a king, scarcely marked even what are called the pure democracies of ancient times. Archons, consuls, triumvirs, decemvirs, dictators, had all the power, and all the external circumstance of kings. Catiline would never have opposed Cicero for the consulship, had not his daring spirit seen in that high office, a diadem; which, had he achieved it, would never have left his audacious brow. Kepuhlican France was not content with her consul, even when 125 she had given him the Jasccs for life; but hastened to concentrate the national glory in the imperial purple. The Bri¬ tish people themselves, as has been al¬ ready shewn, always cherished a king; and never more cordially than after a trial of a coarse, hypocritical, tyrannical, republican government. Our surprise^ finally, maybe less, that the Jews, as their lawgiver foretold, should have demand¬ ed of their prophet Samuel, an earthly king;—a king in defiance of the declared wiU of heaven, in the face of a catalogue of ills, which, they were warned, would follow in his train. “ Nevertheless the people refused to obey the voice of Samuel; and they said, nay, but we will have a king over us. That we also may be like all the other nations, and that our king may judge us, and go out before us, and fight our battles.” * * 1 Sam. chap. 8. 126 So long as the love of distinction holds paramount sway in the human breast, man will venerate the distinguished. Can any one doubt for a moment, that ambi¬ tion, or a passion for power as the means of distinction, is the chief impelling mo¬ tive of the men who, in this island, devote their lives to the bad work of agitating and endeavouring to revolu¬ tionize their country ? Have they no pride when thousands press around them to applaud their harangues, and thou¬ sands more come forth to make them a triumph ? Do they toil and travel, and wake and labour, that they may hide themselves in solitude when the end of their exertions is attained? Is it not no¬ torious to all who know the leading apostles of anarchy for the day, that an impatient, a morbid passion for dis¬ tinction, is their ruling principle of con¬ duct, and that that system must be the object of their keenest hatred, where the places of eminence are occupied to their 127 exclusion ? When their absolute merit is considered, it is ludicrous to observe the obtrusive busthng of those uninteresting men ; their scramble for a little noto¬ riety, wherever the juncture even re¬ motely promises that result for which they pant. There is in them no ha¬ tred of that thing called rank, which would induce them to wish its absolute extinction. A transference of its radiance to their own heads is their passion. They worship “ high estate,” and only hate those who exclude them from it. Change their circumstances—give to any one of these ambitious charlatans, I do not say, a hope of attaining su¬ preme rank, but an easy access to that minor yet great distinction which its very favour confers, and from which they are enraged to be excluded, and your revolutionists shall be fawning courtiers. Without this hypothesis, how could we account for the phenomenon of such men one day vituperating all kings and courts, and the next flying across seas to return 128 perched in the chariot of a queen ! This is the interpretation; they were allowed to approach a queen; received with royal favour, and permitted to display that fact to the world, in a triumphal entry; and they became, for the time, more completely engrossed courtiers, masters of royal ceremonies, arbitri elegantiarum, and presentations, than ever bustled at St James’s! There was no dislike of royalty in the abstract here; but there was as perfect a demonstration of the ope¬ ration of that impulse of nature which I have attempted to describe as could be de¬ sired. The passion for royalty spread, or rather was awakened, and let into a new channel. The itinerant harangues against kings as a curse to nations, which neces¬ sarily and in common consistency in¬ cluded queens, were all forgotten. Un¬ known to these singularly absurd devo¬ tees, there was homage to the crown ne¬ cessarily comprehended in homage to the queen; and never was the fascination of 129 royalty more spread abroad, and more powerful in its operation. There was no dislike of that royalty which might be approached, and from which might so easily be reaped the distinction—for the desire of this descends infinitesi¬ mally—of having approached it. There is no question here of the merits of that momentous trial which these allusions must recall. Supposing that the popular side was the right and just one, would the mere love of justice, without some other powerfully operating feeling, have led to the marked display of the love of royalty which the strange pageantry of the singular period alluded to demon¬ strated ? The love of justice alone can¬ not make any distinction of persons, and ought to have, and would have evinced itself in the precise same degree to a queen and to any other human being. The love of justice there might be—for again it will be remembered that the me- K 130 rits of the cause are not here in ques¬ tion—but there was a great deal more in the pomp of addresses—the eager re¬ pair to court—the ambition to kiss hands —the vanity of equipage—the display of dress, dovai to the humblest ranks of hfe, who are taught to hate those kings only whom they cannot have the distinc¬ tion of approaching. They and their leaders are committed for ever on the subject of kings. Their only remaining question is a choice among them. They afford a far more decided proof of the king-making impulse than could be look¬ ed for in any other quarter. The vanity of approacliing royalty was paid for at a rate far above the ordinary outlay, for that luxury, of thousands who pm’chased it. This never entered into their calculation, there was a queen ready and vdUing to smile upon them, and into her pre¬ sence they rushed, and in her presence they knelt, with the same veneration in 131 kind, which, carried farther, makes a chief a despot, or ranks him as a god. Mixed motives enter into most human actions and calculations. The systematic agitators no doubt rejoiced in the tre¬ mendous operation of a royal engine of revolution—working for them with un¬ hoped for power, and tending to that new order of society where they hope to have a distinction yet more solid than the subordinate distinction of royal fa¬ vour. The determined jacobin is at heart a king—and a king he will be if he sur¬ vives the horrors he creates. What else was the French Revolution, from Robe- spiere to Napoleon, but the successive flash and extinction of such stars of re¬ volutionary ascendancy ? Those haters of all power but their own are any thing but the meek, disinterested promoters of liberty. Your levellers are proud men. They are all high and haughty. Oh! trust them not with power, for they are ty- 132 rants !* Eevolutioii is ilrnr only hope of royal, nay of far short of royal distinc¬ tion. The elevations all up from their level are most unjustly pre-occupied, and of course all is mal-arranged. It is in vain for them to try a regular flight—to attempt, for example, a seat in Parlia¬ ment. They wofuUy mistake the ex¬ tent of the homage of the multitude to their own conceited selves, when these pragmatical demagogues make an at¬ tempt to seize the consecrated ’vantage grounds of the constitution, those known elevations, which have for centuries com¬ manded the pubhc sympathy. No [ there is nothing about them to entitle them to these. The impudent attempt * One of the most humorous touches in the po¬ pular novel of Bracebridge-Hall, from the pen of the author of the “ Sketch-Book,” is the plausible con¬ jecture that the unknown and curiosity-rousing occu¬ pant of a neighbouring apartment in an inn, of whom twenty conjectures had been formed during a whole rainy day, must be a radical, because of the energy with which he rung his bell, and rowed the waiter t 133 has been made, but to be defeated. Their own populace will have none of them ; and in their selfish rage, impotent else¬ where, they finish the disgusting picture by quarreling with each other. I fear, Sir, I owe you an apology for opening up here, where I have better themes, this unpleasing vein of allusion. But the phenomena which it exhibits, afforded an illustration of my views too tempting to be resisted. A more seemly but a deeply affecting exemplification of the foundation of the natural feelings in question still remains, and it shall be my last. If ever the sentiment of sympathy with royal sorrow, because of the fellow- feeling with royal joy, was demonstrated to be instinctive and irresistible, and withal pure and disinterested ;—if ever the beautiful theory of Adam Smith was pedestaled for ever on fact, it was by that burst of grief which came from every heart in the empire when late two youth- 134 fill heirs of the crown lay dead upon one bier. There was splendid state laid in the dust—there was told us the “ sad story of the death of kings.” The blossom had blown but to wi¬ ther, the bud was formed but to pe¬ rish. The diadem that graced, in fairest promise, the brow of royal youth, and sparkled hke a star yet farther off over the head of royal infancy, was hung in melancholy vacancy on their early tomb. Wliy did that cruel blow hght upon mil¬ lions with a force scarcely less than that of the severest domestic bereavement ? MiUions, who would not have bestowed a thought on the death of any other un¬ known mother and infant—millions, whose dreams even, could not have been visited by the shadow* of hope, of per¬ sonal advantage from the lives of these royal victims, had they been preserved to their utmost destiny of splendour and power—milhons, who could not possibly be moved by any one of the ordinary 135 modes of regret and mourning,—personal affection, admiration, respect, or even ha¬ bit,—towards two beings whom they had never seen, and never might see in their lives ? To this interesting question there is but one answer. Such is our nature. Millions of utter strangers to the de¬ ceased, and the relatives of the deceased, wept the illustrious dead, in mere obedi¬ ence to the constitution of their affec¬ tions,—wept because they could not avoid it. There was not a heart in any corner of the land proof against the shock it sustained in witnessing the sudden extinction of a lot radiant with temporal glory, redolent with earthly bhss ; against the aggravating reflection that these victims of “ Death made proud by pure and princely beauty” were the heirs of the royalty of two generations—and because the young heirs, because “ the expectancy and rose of the fair state,” thought of with¬ out one grain of alloy to the purest af- 136 fcction and hope. The mourning was heart-felt and universal—as if “ From forth this morsel of dead royalty, “ The life, the right, and truth of all this realm “ Had fled to heaven.” Suffer me, Sir, to conclude this letter, with one extract, partially given in the motto of this letter, from no less an ally to my argument than Edmund Burke;— a name which eyen the veriest enthusiast, who reviled him, when, with a pro¬ phetic light more than human, he de¬ nounced the French revolution,—as tending, in its unnatural principles, to all the horrors which it realized, and to the iron despotism in which it resulted, —must associate with every thing that is grand and glorious in British character; and let his eloquent words make these ar¬ rogant men pause who would change our social state against the constitution of our nature, and let them comfort those who di'ead such change as probable or even possible. “We preserve the whole 137 of our feelings still native and entire, unsophisticated by pedantry and infide¬ lity. We have real hearts of flesh and blood beating in our bosoms. We fear God; we look up with awe to kings; with affection to parhaments; with duty to magistrates; with reverence to priests; with respect to nobility.—Why? Because when such ideas are brought before our minds, it is natural to be so affected. Because all other feehngs are false and spurious, and tend to corrupt our minds, to vitiate our primary morals, to render us unfit for rational liberty; and by teaching us a servile, licentious, and aban¬ doned insolence, to be our low sport for a few holidays, to make us perfectly fit for, and justly deserving of slavery, through the whole course jof our fives.”* * “ Reflections on the Revolution in France.” LETTER V. -- ■ ■ Look not to the ground, “ y e favourites of a king. Are we not high ! “ High be our thoughts.” Rich. 11. - “ A king, that Avould not feel his crown too heavy for him, must wear it every day.” Lo7-d Bacon's Essays. * TYe have now seen what I have called the natural impulse to pay homage to kings in various aspects, in various stages of civilization, in various states of pohtical feehng; and in them all we have found it a principle of powerful and uniform operation. It becomes a still more interesting in¬ quiry, how this natural disposition is modified in a free and enlightened peo¬ ple. That it exists there, and in great force, no one can doubt, who witnessed the late royal visit, or who attends to the sentiments towards the sovereign, 139 which are cherished around him. Yet it is something very different from the abject prostration and idolatry of the slaves of a despot. One characteristic of the loyal¬ ty of the subjects of a free monarchical state is sufficiently obvious, there is no admixture of fear in it. There are all the other requisites of the regal state in their monarch, all the other dazzhng ad¬ vantages of condition which command admiration, all the splendour, and luxury, and essential power, which strike with awe, but there is no power to oppress. There may be power in such a prince to sway the nations and rule the world, but, the charm is ineffable, there is no power to injurethe poorest of his subjects. In the British dominions, we look not on the face of the man who has power to hurt the most insignificant human being who breathes the air of our free land. This feehng is quite necessary to the existence of affec¬ tion, superadded to reverence for a mo¬ narch. When Lord Bacon says, “ a king 140 who is not feared is not loved,” he ex¬ plains his use of the term by adding, “ yet not loved for fear, but feared for love.” Our affection will hold, certainly, a proportion to the Monarch’s estimable personal quahties, but it is incompatible with a dread of him. No doubt, such quahties, shining very conspicuously, will command the affections of those who, constitutionally speaking, are slaves ; and we know that a beneficent despot does en¬ sure affection from his subjects, and even gratitude, for the pure gratuity of a mild instead of a ferocious sway. No mo¬ narch, for example, was ever more be¬ loved than Henry the F ourth of Franee. The hold which that high-minded and kind-hearted prince had of his people’s affection, may be judged of from the fact alone, that to this day his name is the established personification of French loyalty, and tjhe ode to his praise, the national air which has greeted, since his time, a succession of kings. Although 141 Henry the Fourth had as much power to oppress as any other king of France be¬ fore the revolution, yet every action and every thought of that excellent prince was generosity and kindly affec¬ tion to his people; and his homely but heart-felt wish—“ that he might see the day when there should be a fowl in the pot of every peasant in his kingdom,” evinced a character of benevolence, which, superadded to his gallantry and glory, leaves us no room for wonder that he w’^as the idol of his people, and that his memory is as fresh in their hearts as if he had not been dead a year. But affection, in a despotism, must depend exclusively on the personal character of the monarch, unaided by any other incitement or as¬ sociation. The benevolent autocrat is succeeded by a cruel,—the homage, the slavish feehng may be increased, but the affection is gone. If we take the best example of a free and enlightened mo¬ narchy, the British, in wliich the senti- 142 nicnt towards the Sovereign never can be mingled with fear, we shall find many auxiliary elements characterising that ex¬ alted emotion, which, with a word borrow¬ ed from the very law which limits the mo¬ narch’s power, we call, by way of emi¬ nence, loyalty. Our reverence for our King is a high sentiment of patriotism. He is our King, much more than we are his subjects. He is the exalted magis¬ trate of our choice and elevation, not the tyrant who has himself seized the sceptre, and subjugated us. We cannot make this prince of our own exaltation too splendid. We would withhold nothing from him but the power to do wrong. Our wealth and grandeur must necessarily, as well as in unison with our wishes, in¬ crease his; and the exhibition of them by him, has in our eyes the double value of being our own munificent gift, and the test and index of our own national pros¬ perity. He is the capital of our national pillar, which w^e love should be rich and 143 gorgeous; and when we say, and delight to say, that our king is the most power¬ ful monarch on earth, we mean, because we feel, that we are ourselves the most powerful peojDle, and that he is our head and ornament—the Hving emblem of our strength, our virtue, and our glory. The Sultan, or the Bey, hears -with disdain that the British king cannot doom a single head to the scymeter, or neck to the bowstring: yet into what inelFable insignificance would the barbarian shrink, were he to come within the career of the power, or blaze of the splendour of Bri¬ tain’s king. Britain’s king is Britain,—a magnificent personification of Britain’s wealth and power, of her fight and vir¬ tue, nay of her freedom ; for a thousand patriotic and liberal sentiments mingle with that exalted and manly homage, to which every other monarch but the Bri¬ tish is a stranger. This was the sublimest feature of the late visit. The moment the royal standard flew—the moment the 144 king’s foot touched the strand, the shout was for that empire’s people, of whom he is the head. It was their grandeur, their freedom, their victories, their greatness of a thousand years, that were all em¬ bodied in their prince, in overpowering concentration. There is no such living type of national pride and glory as a king. That feehng was frittered away into prosaic detail, when divided among the Archons, the Decemvirs, even the Con¬ suls of antiquity. Who ever gloried in an areopagus, a senate, a council of ten, or a congress ! It is not the ques¬ tion which mode of rule is the best, but which we love the most; which is high¬ est in excitement, and richest in associa¬ tion. Can it be doubted, that it is the king of a free, a great, a glorious people, in the midst of countless multitudes, all animated by one common sympathy with him, and affection for him; with their wealth and freedom shining in his splendour, their deeds of virtue gemming 145 his diadem, and their glory encircling his head 1 There is no slavery in this, no Juggernaut;—the infelicitous, ignorant, unfeeling allusion of some, who either lack the discrimination to find a rational medium between prostration and rebel¬ lion, or hate the manly loyalty which makes their projects desperate. Every shout which hailed our King was the shout of generous hberty; every tear was the tear of pride; and if there was a head, that day, less erect than every other, it was the head which wore the crown. Allow me, now. Sir, a brief summary and apphcation of the facts and statements of my previous Letters, in order to bring their subject to a practical conclusion. AVe have seen, deluded into an anti¬ social and disloyal disposition, a large class of our countrymen,—“ more sinned against than sinning,”—whose education, although, as M. Biot has well said, suited to a life of industry, and, in relation to L 146 the affairs of ordinary life, the basis of a sagacious character, does not quahfy them to refute, at first sight, very tempt¬ ing pohtical speculations, which address the judgment through the hazy medium of the passions. 'We have seen an indif¬ ference, at least, to the Sovereign’s per¬ son, from the long absence of royalty from our country—nay, some prejudices existing against it, the too successful work of the demagogue. Nevertheless, when the Sovereign, confiding in the better feelings of his people’s hearts, came unhesitatingly amongst them, we have seen love of king and country tri¬ umphant, and not a breathing of dis¬ content uttered around. In the se¬ ries of occasions on which the Sovereign met his subjects, we have seen that, in the bosoms of a reflecting and by no means easily excited people, large classes of which had moreover previously been prejudiced, there was, without a well as¬ certained exception, joy almost immode- 147 rate, veneration, and increasing attach¬ ment and affection, all not only new to ns in degree, but so anomalous in kind, as to impart much interest to the in¬ quiry, in what part of the human con¬ stitution a principle lurks capable of such sudden and powerful expansion. We have seen the principle traced to an impulse in our nature to sympathise with splendid fortune, and venerate and pay homage to elevated rank, which proud and conceited men alone, who are ex¬ cluded by circumstances both from the possession of and access to the presence of high rank, affect to despise; till occasion shews them to be under the common influence, even more strikingly than far less pretending persons. But we have likewise seen, that this natural homage to elevated station, when mingled with the nobler sentiments of high-mind¬ ed freemen, assumes the prouder charac¬ ter of lofty patriotism; and identifies the love of king in nameless and numberless 148 affecting ways with the love of country. This is a feehng too congenial to the hearts and habits of the great and highly improved British people, to encourage the shadow of a hope to the proud level¬ ler, who loves a repubhc because he him¬ self was not born a king—that in this, or in any future age, they will quit their right to bestow a crown, or their natural and refined love of a generous, dignified, splendid and free monarchy, to bestow their allegiance on the pedantries and tyrannies of the conceited, and altogether uninteresting units of a democratic con¬ vention. It is one proof of the ignorance of these persevering republicans, that they are not aware of the permanently insurmountable difficulty in the way of the reahzation of their dreams, founded deep in the original constitution of our nature, and rendered tenfold stronger, in this country, by our habits. We ad¬ mire rank, and respect authority,—aye, and we like to see them in those suitable 149 official externals, which have venerable associations; although dogmatical persons are pleased to call these barbarous or childish. We will not be americanized. They who propose the experiment, rea¬ son against nature fortified by second nature, habit, and have failed, and ever will fail, accordingly. But this enthusiastic reception of our Sovereign is not all. The indicia of this, it is possible, were equivocal,—were the proofs of sudden and transient feehng, which, ceasing with the excitement, shall leave the public mind precisely as it found it. Now, Sir, the time which has passed since that memorable occasion is inestimable, as affording the means of judging of the permanence of its ef¬ fects. Two months are in themselves something, absolutely, for the duration of a feehng, which, had it been the theatri¬ cal excitement of the hour, must have vanished the instant the curtain dropped upon the drama. But that period is of 150 still greater value, in as much as it enables us to judge of the future. No opportu¬ nity has been lost, and many have been sought, by the writer of these letters, to ascertain whether or not the terms of peace and good-will which, by one con¬ sent, were ratified in the royal presence, are still kept, and likely to be so per¬ manently. Political animosity had, from local cir¬ cumstances,—^let us hope never to recur, —risen to a great height between our respectable and regular political parties. But this could not survive the beautifully impartial reception of both by the Sove¬ reign. It was one of the most striking and the most pleasing features of the visit, that a paramount sentiment—one mighty key note, annihilated all others not in perfect unison with it. None will venture to deny, that such inharmoni- / ous feelings were, for the time, utterly non-existent. Now no one can pos¬ sibly suppose that the spirit was merely 151 suspended, to resume its reign again when no longer overawed. This is not its nature. It is too uncomfortable to both sides, when they feel generously, to be revived. Its suspension is neces¬ sarily its destruction. I do not speak of the bickering of daily journalists, but of the misunderstandings of honourable and accomplished men, who yet have rivalled each other in doing honour to their King, and showing pride in their country. Men who hve surrounded by all the delights of kindred and charities of home; and who have not an element in their characters, or even in their cir¬ cumstances, hostile to each other; men who come forward,—be it never forgot¬ ten,—in the hour of each other’s need, to bear testimony, as generous as true, to each other’s private worth and social ex¬ cellence. This beautiful spectacle, on a late tragical occasion, delighted the whole empire, and the wonder was the greater that such men should jar. What then 152 sIkiII M"e say to the revival by them now of animosities wliich, with one consent, they hid from their Sovereign! Let even the thought of going “ to the dirty work again” be contrasted vdth the ge¬ nerous and manly good-vdll which his presence inspired, that its utter bad taste, its ineifable bathos may be the more powerfully felt. There is no need to make inquiries how a matter is, when we know how it miist be ; but the fact of reconeihation among the best and ablest men of our country, and the dispositioir to guard the avenues against a return of dissension, is too notorious to require to be here even averred. Again, it was an edifying moral effect of the royal presence, that marked good- v^dll among all ranks which it produced. Anxious as was every class to meet their Sovereign, in that external respectabihty which claims alliance to a great and pros¬ perous country, and displays those sub¬ stantial of long established good govern^ 153 ment which best belie the allegations of oppression and distress, they had room in their hearts for an earnest wish for the respectability of every other class of the community. There was not, on the one hand, an individual of rank and wealth, who was not warmly interested in the respectable appearance of the lower class¬ es; and who did not feel proud when their general exterior drew from the Sovereign the never to be forgotten question, “ Where are your lower orders, I have not seen them?” The humbler classes were indeed that day “ their coun¬ try’s pride,” when they were their Sove¬ reign’s admiration. But the return from them was still more striking, and, in a political view, perhaps more important. The poorest of our fellow subjects grud¬ ged not, in his heart, nay would have wished increased, in aU their gradations, the wealth and elegance of the higher classes, which were worthy a king’s eye. No, no! There is no real estrangement on either side, between the higher and 154 lower orders of our population; or if there was some shade of alienation, it was a delusion as weakly as industriously in¬ culcated, not a natural and spontaneous, and least of all a permanent feeling. But how do the lower classes continue to feel for the King ? The answer—^inde¬ pendently of extensive and most satisfac¬ tory inquiry into the fact,—is this, that it is not their character to have expres¬ sed respect for their King, if they had not been perfectly sincere; and sincerity with them is a tolerable pledge of per¬ manence. The sentiment was greatly too general, as well as powerful, to have been within the means of individual or party to have artificially got up. Had it required to have been factitious, there would have been great exertions made, no doubt; but these would have been on that side rather which would have kept it down. The crowd on the Calton Hill, of themselves singing “ God save the King,” is more than answer to all the 155 insinuations which have been ventured that the feeling was either factitious or insincere. But the fact itself is not mat¬ ter of doubt, and it has been exten¬ sively investigated. The feeling that they had misconceived the King—that he had been misrepresented to them, is generally expressed, and a conscious¬ ness of pleasure in thinking well of him generally prevalent.* It is a feast to the patriotic moralist more exquisite than he was ever called to enjoy, that the strongholds of the demagogue have thus been assailed and carried, through the better and more generous feelings of the people, the exercise of which, although for a time obstructed, has been restored, * On asking a few days ago a master mechanic wlio has a number of journeymen and apprentices, how liis people, and many of the same class whom he has daily occasion to see, continued to feel, now that the King has been gone nearly two months—his answer was, “ they are to a man for the King, and they say they have a pleasure in being for liim, quite new to them!" 156 and has opened up to the poor man a feeling of hfe and joy, which his base betrayers never permitted to visit his bosom. The fact would put the misan¬ thropist in good humour with his species, that although unsocial delusions may have their sway, the heart can be led back by the yet greater force of the social virtues,—of those kindly affections and charities which exalt man to his proper station, “ a little lower than the angels.” Where now shall the pohtical mounte¬ bank find an audience ! or who, after this harmonious chorus, shall strike once more the discord of discontent! Who shall tell a people that have but gone forth in enthusiasm, in comfort, and in pride, to hail their Sovereign, that they are oppressed, degraded and insulted, and owe it to themselves and to their chil¬ dren to raise the arm of defiance against that Sovereign, and the hand of destruc¬ tion against that system under which they prosper! Truths unsuspected be- fore, unfold themselves at every step of our retrospect. These demagogues are more misled than the most abused of their disciples, if they dream of having any thing beyond the semblance of a hold of these disciples’ hearts. A week of their insulted Monarch’s healthful pre¬ sence has thrown down to the founda¬ tion their bad fabric of thirty years, and shewn even to themselves the hopeless¬ ness of renewing their profligate but pu¬ ny exertions. The least instructed of their audience know well when they have bread to eat and to spare, when a lar¬ ger share of the comforts and the joys of hfe dwell with them, than they will risk by revolution, and although their be¬ trayers may carry their success to the length of what I have called a sentiment of dissatisfaction,—that each, in his sphere, is not richer, or more distinguished, it is but a sentiment, it never was more, and is now, thank Heaven, farther than ever from a revolutionary principle of ac- 158 tion. Even as a sentiment it has its tides, and it often ebbs into oblivion. Pros¬ perous times return, the agitators are in¬ active, pretences fail them, fortune de¬ nies opportunities, and there then pre¬ vails that naturally smooth surface in the popular feelings, which, in a people be¬ yond all question the most familiar with well-being in the world, indicates a great depth of real social comfort and satisfac¬ tion. Such are the effects, moral and politi¬ cal, which have so far exceeded anticipa¬ tion, of the visit of the Sovereign (o his northern dominions, from which we are entitled to draw the grand general prac¬ tical conclusion, that the power of our Sovereign to do good and remedy evil, is incalculably increased by a judicious, con¬ fiding, and affectionate intercourse with his people; not confined to the concen¬ trated crowd of the capital of his empire, but carrying to the remotest of his peo¬ ple, that most flattering of national dis- 1 159 tinctions, the stately progress of a great prince to visit them in their distant homes. If any one should be inclined to think that the power of the royal presence has in these pages been overrated, I have no other argument for him than a refer¬ ence to the fact,—the coincidence if he pleases,—that our Sovereign has been amongst us, and that not only have some baneful sentiments and unhajDpy dispositions, which threatened our pub- hc weal and disturbed our intersocial comfort, suddenly disappeared, as if they had been charmed a^vay, but a sense of the real value of all that makes a people tridy worthy has been borne in upon every rank of our community. I cannot ima¬ gine any one not conscious of a senti¬ ment of very cordial satisfaction because of what has passed; and a sort of self- gratulation, that his country has been weighed and found not wanting, and that it shall assume, from that very assui- 160 ance, a new spring of improvement in all that renders a people prosperous, respectable, and happy. There was one expression in every one’s mouth—and I refer to it as setting this question at rest—^the feehngs, it was said, which the visit excited were New. This is enough,—the effects also were new. If the feehngs were new, it follows that, without the visit, they would not have been called up. But for that visit we should probably have gone on with the lower ranks scowhng, and the higher ranks contending, till they tired, with¬ out the shghtest aid from the sun of royalty, confined to another hemisphere, to clear away these ground-fogs and these storms. No wonder that, after an interval of five reigns, the royal presence excited novel emotions. Our loyalty to our King, before we saw him^ was a feel¬ ing—not the less to be cherished because warmer sentiments have now enriched it—which dictated a decent and well- 161 principled respect for the king’s name, as a part of our obedience to the laws of the land, and to the precepts of our holy re¬ ligion, a becoming reverence for the Sove¬ reign as the lawful head of a system under which we and our fathers have so long lived, and moved, and prospered. But the deeper feeling, the more intense excite¬ ment of the Sovereign’s ju’esence—the thrill, the tear, the faintness, were indeed new, and disclosed the great secret of a moral power, the momentum of which was not even suspected. Before our southern neighbours—those at least of the metropolis—refuse their sympathies to these feelings, they must divest themselves of their habits of contemplating the Sovereign, who, all the time he has been absent from us, has been regularly and habitually domi¬ ciled among them. It would be strange indeed if his occasional state appearances in London produced, every time, the new M 162 effects which we have experienced. Great and good consequences, no doubt, would result from an increase of sympathy be¬ tween the Sovereign and his capital; from an intercourse which may easily be ren¬ dered suitable to the people’s feehngs and the Sovereign’s dignity; an inter¬ course, moreover, which ought to be, and must be, as the simple and beautiful means of exalting, morally and political¬ ly, the sentiments of all ranks in that vast concentration of human beings, and espe¬ cially of destroying, by the cheapest and the noblest of aU'pohce, the whole tor¬ tuous texture of the spider-like work of the demagogue; but its operation would not be sudden and enthusiastic hke that of the King’s unwonted, and highly flattering distant visits. The novelty of the excitement of these was anticipat¬ ed by many inhabitants of London it¬ self, who, although they see the king every day, eagerly repaired to Dublin, and again to Edinburgh, to see him in 163 these j)lcices so new to him, and to all who welcomed him. Eut to be satisfied of this difference, let them see his Majesty visit formally, and of set purpose—not merely pass through—any town in Eng¬ land itself, not accustomed to his presence, and the enthusiasm of E dinburgh—almost of Dublin, would be rivalled, and all the same happy effects would be produced. It would be cheering to every patriotic heart to see more of these proofs of the Sovereign’s love for all his people. To none of his children does a wise and truly affectionate parent manifest an un¬ due partiality. To none of the three kingdoms which owm the most magnifi¬ cent sway on earth, will their Monarch lean with unwise and ungenerous pre¬ ference. What must the pride of heart be of the prince of such an united people! There is not a higher thought for his most exulting moments of the conscious¬ ness of majesty, than the contemplation 164 of the interesting variety of the three great families of his empire, and of their efforts, separate and combined, resulting in that empire’s glory;—of the different, but all great and gallant ways in which these rivals in virtue bring their offer¬ ings to the common stock of national wisdom, wealth and glory. It requires a high mind, a lofty head to dehght in and wear worthily that three-fold crown—to value the diversity and yet harmony of the tints, the bold and ro¬ mantic variety yet unity of the lights and shadows, of the most superb picture of national virtue and glory in the world,— to know that, when his voice shall give the word that their country needs his people’s might, there exists not, among these differing yet blending millions, an arm whose strength shall be withheld,— a mind whose thinking force shall be re¬ fused,—a genius whose gifts shall be grudged,—a heart whose best blood shall be saved, in the great and glorious cause. 165 There are large and important portions of England itself, which would be incalcula¬ bly refreshed by the occasional presence of the King. His departure and return to Greenwich were specimens of the feel¬ ings of his English subjects. Wales would welcome him to her mountains, with all her Celtic warmth and hospita¬ lity. Some parts of Scotland, lately misled but now repentant, would have taken yef stronger vows in the actual pre¬ sence of a forgiving and confiding Sove¬ reign.* Long and distant progresses may not often suit state exigencies. During no part of the late war were they practicable. They are the cam¬ paigns of peace,—the victories of good¬ will. It is enough that the inestimable truth is established that they never can take place without doing a sum of good, * I would have given up two days of his jMajesty in Edinburgh to have seen him for one in Glasgow. Want of time, no want of confidence, prevented this fine additional confirmation of all I have been con¬ tending for. 166 which a thousand, times the cost, and the Sovereign’s actual exertion, in any other way, would fail to acliieve. Party ani¬ mosity and popidar delusion vanish be¬ fore them; and with the exception of those whose trade is pohtical seduction, whose hfe and hope is anarchy,—those who “-wrestle down “ Feelings their nature strive to own,” all are excited to enthusiasm, and carried along by an impulse beyond their power ~ of resistance.* Let the Sovereign but ap- * The actual demagogue is of course beyond the reach even of this powerful remedy, but it is amusing to observe its operation on even the most self-sufficient of his converts. Among others who came to Edin¬ burgh to see the King, was what is called a pliiloso- pliical weaver from the west country; who, by the prag¬ matical vanity of a little ill understood reading, con¬ verted itito a radical, afforded another illustration of the theory of these letters in the irresistible desire he had to see the pomp of majesty ;—an errand, which, half ashamed of the compromise of his stern principles it implied, he would rather have concealed; and he therefore wished to maintain a strict but dignified in¬ cognito. It chanced that he was met in Edinburgh by 167 pear, wherever his enemies have raised the storm in his absence, and every heart will return to him. “ Not all the waters of the rough rude sea “ Can wash the balm from an anointed king.” One irresistible topic more, and I have done. If kingly power and pre¬ sence be influential on the people, in bringing out and exercising their best affections, what a glorious school is here for royalty itself! The prince who lives in public must cultivate the qualities of heart, the greatness of soul which gain him increased influence and power. It is the prince in concealment who cares for none of these things, and who, having no a respectable clergyman,—not unknown to the literary, and well known to the philanthropic world,—who knew him, and had often reasoned with him on his political sentiments. Surprised to see Mm on such an occasion, the clergyman asked him, “ How he liked the King ?” He answered, that he did not know how it was, but there was something “ here,” putting his hand to his heart, “ which mastered him whenever the King appeared. But he would soon get the better of such nonsense, when he got home again !” 168 higher motive to animate him, must sink into sensuality and debasement. Aprince thus shrouded were more than man if he have strength of mind to avoid being much less than man. That those plea¬ sures which solicit him, at every turn, are splendid in their accessaries, does not elevate, in the least, their vulgar charac¬ ter. Why should he, cultivate social vir¬ tues, kindly affections, even external graces, to whom the world, is in non-exist¬ ence,—^who, if he hears of it at all, does so through the false medium of those, whose marked interest it is to deceive him ? Bring out the prince into the sphere of his people’s vision, within the influence of their fellow feeling, subject at once to the powerful regulation of their judgment and the animating encouragement of their sympathy and loyalty; if graceful behaviour alone will ensure him good¬ will, true nobleness of soul will win him enthusiastic attachment. Can any one say that these will not purify and ex¬ alt a king above all littleness, and all sel¬ fishness, and all sensuality; improve his moral graces, if he have them, and almost create them if he have them not; lead him to the exercise of honour and feel¬ ing, and guide him even to the influence of a yet higher wisdom! In the choice of the mere luxuries which royalty commands,—^not the luxu¬ ries of sense, which, ill regulated, will cease to please, will disgust the prince as well as the subject, but the luxuries of the more elevated passions, such as the glories of war; where can monarch be placed in circumstances of higher, of nobler, of prouder feeling, of more intense enjoyment, than in such a visit as our King has lately paid to Scotland? The object of the love and affection of a nation’s population—the concentration of their patriotism and love of country— the head and ornament of their prosperi¬ ty and glory—the centre of one wide t70 scene of enthusiasm and joy! In the chariot of the conqueror,—whose sole merit was that he had destroyed vast numbers of his fellow-creatures,—the Romans placed a slave to whisper in his ear, “ Remember that thou art a man.” Yet w^as the proudest of Roman triumphs tame and poor in the eye of the patriot, the moralist, and the Christian, to that which w^as lately enjoyed by the Bri¬ tish Monarch, not engrossed by him-r self, but shared with his triumphing I have the honour to be, &c. William Ailken, rrinter, Kdinburgh. ; ‘ t-'mr &\